Going Home
by FarenMaddox
Summary: "Nobody ever told me it would hurt so much to grow up. The bastards." The musings, often cynical, of one Harry J. Potter as he navigates romance, friendships, a chronically ill godson, and the tricky path to adulthood. THIS STORY IS INCOMPLETE, AND ON HIATUS, POSSIBLY ABANDONED.
1. Chapter 1

Chapter One

No, Doctor

I'm frowning as I bounce Teddy on my knee, letting him squeeze his pudgy little fingers around my hands for balance. The way that Andromeda is looking at him is disturbing, and I wonder what it's about. Her face always has a reflection of that cold pride that is inherent in the Black family tree, but this is more than that. She's looking at Teddy as if she genuinely finds something distasteful about him—her own grandson. This, coming on the heels of her warning that he's been colicky lately and she's worried about him, bothers me. I wonder if I should say something, but in the end, I decide not to. I'd rather start my time with Teddy off on a good note.

"Whee!" he chortles as I bounce him, his face alive and happy beneath a thick mop of hair (currently brown, but it changes at a moment's notice). In fact, in his excitement, his hair begins to glow blue. I'm laughing, but Andromeda's frowning.

"That's so strange," she says, shaking her head. "Dora had stopped doing that by the time she was a year old, and Teddy's already at seventeen months."

Despite the implication that my godson is weird, I relax. That must be the reason for the look she had just now. She obviously doesn't like Teddy flaunting his Metamorphmagus status, but I could care less. In fact, I think it's pretty cool, so he can do it to his heart's content. I decide to stop bouncing him, however, since I have learned from experience that prolonged bouncing leads to Teddy being sick all over me.

"We won't be able to stay long today, I'm afraid," Andromeda says while I try to make Teddy stop whining for more. "I've got a guest for tea today, so I've got to get my errands done before teatime."

I can't help but feel bad for Andromeda. She had a kid, raised her, and was probably looking forward to some peace and quiet to share with her husband. Instead she lost the kid and husband and was stuck with a baby that promised years of headaches. Having to look after a baby during tea with a friend sounds like something less than a barrel of laughs. After all, how would I like it if I was stuck with Teddy while I was trying to go out with Ron?

Maybe it's the feelings of sympathy, or maybe it's just a selfish desire to not get cheated out of time with Teddy, but whatever my motivations, I find myself offering to keep him for a while.

"Why don't you leave him with me? I can watch him for a few hours while you're doing errands and seeing your friend."

Andromeda is giving me a doubtful look, which makes me bristle a bit. I mean, honestly, I'm not that unreliable, am I? Okay, I'm rather well known for being unpredictable, unstable, and attracting death threats, but she knows me better than that. And I would never do anything to hurt Teddy, she at least has to know that much!

"Come on, we'll get along fine. I just thought you could use a break."

Andromeda still looks like she wants to argue, but she says, "I really could. Are you sure, Harry? He can be quite a handful."

Like I don't know that? I try not to roll my eyes, but it's a bit ridiculous. We've had regular visits for a year now, so I think I've gotten pretty good at taking care of the kid (who is currently whining to be let down to play, and I absentmindedly slip him down to the floor). I can handle a few hours alone with him. He can walk and communicate his needs, so he doesn't scare me nearly as much as he did at first when I was afraid I was going to break him or that I'd never get him to stop crying. He's playing with the toys I keep for him in my living room, and I'm thinking we've come a long way since the times when I made Andromeda keep her hands under my arms in case I dropped him.

"Of course I'm sure! We'll have a great time, won't we, Teddy?"

He looks up at hearing his name, dismisses it as not important and goes back to making really wild sound effects for the stuffed dragon he's got.

"You know I love him, Andromeda, I don't mind doing this at all."

I'm surprised to realise that it's true, as I'm saying it. I do love Teddy, and I'm practically jumping at the chance to be the one in charge for a while. Teddy is like a second chance at life, in so many ways, and to be honest, I have an easier time carrying on a conversation with him than I do with his grandmother. (No, doctor, I have no guilty feelings because I feel responsible for the death of her daughter—honest! I don't need to talk about it!)

Looking like she just got an early birthday present, Andromeda thanks me and tells Teddy that she'll come back for him in time for dinner. He's too wrapped up in his toys to be sorry to see her go, and I'm not worried. He probably won't even notice she's gone until she's due back to get him.

Five minutes later, I'm cursing myself and my stupid ideas while I pat Teddy's back and try to make him stop bawling in my ear.

"Gamma!" he's howling.

So he noticed. So sue me.

"Hey, little man, come on, let's play while we wait for her to come back. See, here's the broomstick I got for you."

He isn't buying it.

I carry him against my chest with his snotty, noisy face pressed more or less into my shoulder (I'm thinking I'll burn the shirt), walking in circles around the living room and bouncing him, patting his back, trying to talk to him and getting steadily more agitated. I think he's just crying to piss me off at this point.

Kreacher appears, looking pained. I want to flip him off, but my hands are a little tied up.

"Does master require any assistance?" he asks croakily, eyeing the bundle of snot in my arms like it's the eleventh plague of Egypt.

"Master requires a new pair of eardrums," I mutter, before I remember that Kreacher has a tendency to take me very literally and I might be forced to escort an irate wizard to St. Mungo's to get his eardrums replaced. "Just kidding, Kreacher! No, no, I'm fine. I'm just gonna . . ." I cast around for an idea, but the only thing I can think is that I'm a teenaged boy and I shouldn't be forced to deal with crying babies. That is a job for women. "Oh, there's an idea." Women who already know all about crying babies are best in these situations, and I just so happen to know one of those who adores me. "I think we'll go visit the Burrow and see who's home," I say casually. "Of course, they've put up those anti-crying wards, so nobody who is crying can get inside . . ."

Sure enough, that shuts Teddy up. Little sneak _was_ faking it. Based on his couple of encounters with her, Teddy loves Molly. It's probably mostly because she tries to feed him the same way she tries to feed me—to the point that it hurts to eat, and then some more.

"Thanks, anyway, Kreacher," I say to the house elf, who continues to stand there with a slightly disgusted look on his face. He might feel very loyal to me, but it doesn't make him like babies any better. He retreats with relief, and I poke my head into the fireplace to check it's okay to come over.

Molly is in the kitchen. I would swear she sleeps in there if I hadn't been over often enough to know better.

"Hi, Mrs. Weasley."

"Oh, Harry dear," she says warmly, not at all surprised to see me in her fire. I try to call before I come over unless I'm already with a family member. "How are you?"

"I'm fine, Mrs. Weasley. Guess who I've got with me today?"

I guess the tone of my voice gave it away.

"Are you watching Teddy?"

"Yup. Andromeda finally decided she could let the kid out of her sight for a few hours, so I've got him over here at my place."

I don't know why I bother pretending it's "my" place. It totally belongs to Kreacher. I never have felt completely comfortable in this house, not since Sirius died, but hey, it's a place to live. I could get a different place, but I don't feel right about selling it or about forcing Kreacher to either come with me or stay in Grimmauld Place alone. He's very old now, though, and I think I'll try to bring myself to sell it when he dies. I make up for the depressing home by spending half my time at the Burrow, instead.

"Why don't you bring Teddy over for lunch, dear?" Molly suggests, looking happy at the prospect of having someone to feed. My plan is working like a charm. "Ron isn't here, of course, he's at the shop, but Ginny is home today."

Even better—my girlfriend is there!

"Thanks, Mrs. Weasley, I think we will. It'll take a load off of Kreacher." Did I mention he was getting old? A few days ago, I found one of my old trainers in the pot of soup he was making. Any time I don't have to eat his cooking or my own is a good one. The idea of retirement did not settle well with him, but now I wonder if his continuing to work might not kill us both.

I withdraw from the fireplace to find Teddy missing, and my heart leaps into my throat with panic, but it turns out all right—he wasn't even halfway up the stairs yet. He is indignant.

"Big boy!" he says several times.

I assure him that he is indeed a big boy who can go up the stairs if he wants to, but he can't right now because we have to go see Mrs. Weasley for lunch. He's happy with that. I swear to Merlin he thinks of Molly as the culinary version of Santa Claus—a plump and jolly person who dispenses delicious food to good little boys and girls.

I pick him up and wrap my arms around him before I Floo through to the Burrow—I never have and never will fully trust the Floo network, and I want to keep him safe. Molly greets us, then pushes Teddy out back and tells him to play in the yard until lunch is ready. I make to follow him outside, but she says,

"Oh, you can sit down, dear, he'll be fine playing in the mud for a minute. Take rest while you can, that's my advice. You can see him right there through the window."

After the crying jag he went on, I could use a minute without him. Who am I to argue with the child-rearing advice of Molly Weasley? Little do I suspect that she's just trying to keep me there so she can talk to me.

"Ginny's got a bit of news, Harry. I want you to promise me you'll be supportive and not say anything to hurt her."

"What? Why would I? What news?"

"She'd kill me if I didn't let her tell you herself," Molly says, sounding scandalised. "You just promise you'll think it through before you say anything."

"Okay . . ."

I'm utterly confused, but that's all I have time for, since I have to rush outside and grab Teddy before he gets into the broom shed and gets himself killed.

* * *

Ginny came downstairs and helped Molly put together a "light" lunch, which I'm currently finishing and planning to avoid food for the forseeable future. She really is turning into her mother, only, you know, young and sexy and usually smelling of blueberries. I don't know why blueberries, and she says the soap she uses is supposed to smell like roses, but there you have it. I'm not complaining. I love blueberries.

I'd better give Teddy a bath before I give him back to Andromeda, I think as I release the magical restraint I put on his chair (because what kid hasn't slipped out of a non-magical high chair, I ask you?). He's managed to get cheese in his eyebrows. Which, due to his happy mood and distraction over the prospect of playing in the mud some more, are bright pink beneath the cheese. I figure he'd be learning better control over his abilities if it weren't for the fact that we all encourage it so much—except Andromeda. I'm not saying she's a killjoy or anything, Merlin knows it was hard enough to raise one high-spirited Metamorphmagus, but she is—all right, she's a bit of a killjoy. (No, doctor, I'm not repressing my guilty feelings by coming up with reasons to dislike her! Why would I do a thing like that?)

"Ginny, and Harry dear, would you mind doing the dishes? I'll just take Teddy outside and make sure he doesn't get into any trouble."

She really doesn't miss a thing, that woman. Perfectly legitimate excuse for us to be alone so we can talk. Of course, the first thing we do is share a long-overdue moment of snogging. I've been thinking I'm going to be sick if I even see food for a week, but I relish the scent of blueberries nonetheless. Molly is very pointedly turned away from the kitchen window, I notice when I come up for air. She really is the most wonderful woman in the world, except maybe her daughter, who is perfectly willing to snog some more, so we do that.

A couple of minutes later, we actually start clearing up from lunch, and we talk.

"Your mum said you had some news," is my prompt. I try to be casual about it, despite the fact that her warning has my heart pounding.

Ginny's entire face lights up, and I suddenly know what her news is.

"You got it?"

She nods eagerly, her beautiful hair flying.

"You got it!" I whoop, and I grab her around the waist and pick her up and start twirling her around. "Ginny! Congratulations! You're in!"

"I'm in!" she shouts back, laughing.

This is excellent news, indeed. Her tryouts for the Holyhead Harpies were only a few days ago, and we've been waiting on pins and needles ever since. And she made it! Not that I doubted her for even a moment, of course. And I'm not just saying that. I've been watching her play for the last three years, and I would have thought the Harpies' coach was completely daft not to take her.

"Obviously I'm only on the reserve team," Ginny says more soberly, when I finally let her go (which is after a bit more snogging, but it was perfectly justified). "I'm going to work my cute little arse off to prove myself this season, and hopefully I'll be on the regular team next year."

My attention has been called to her cute little arse, which merits a playful squeeze, which apparently merits a stinging slap on the back of my hand.

"Harry!" she hisses. "My mother is watching us!"

"She already knows," I grin.

"So is your very young and impressionable godson."

I roll my eyes, but desist from further displays of affection. I wave at the pair out the kitchen window, chuckling as I see how much mud Teddy has managed to smear on Molly, and her good humour about it. After all, as much as I might whine about Teddy's crying jags or general ability to get on my nerves, I do take being his godfather very seriously. I have an utter determination to have a role in his life—not just that, but a good role. My model might have made a lot of mistakes, but there was no denying he loved me. Teddy is missing a hugely important part of his life, which is at least partially due to me, and I'm going to make it up to him as best I can. I have a lot of sympathy for some of Sirius' less endearing moments, now.

Ginny and I finally begin the dishes, with me washing and rinsing, and her drying and putting away.

"Tell me the plan," I urge her.

She accepts a plate and rubs it with a towel. "Training camp, first of all. Gwenog Jones is something of a slave driver, from what I can see, and the camp is going to last several weeks."

"When does it start?"

"In about two weeks," she answers, using her wand to send the stack of clean and dry plates into the cupboard.

I am learning that pouting can be cute, so I try it. "So soon? But you'll be gone forever!"

"I will be once the season starts. Which is only a week after I get back from training camp, unfortunately. I'm thinking I might get most of the packing done now, so I won't have so much to do between camp and the new season."

I am rather stunned by this. Of course I wanted her to succeed, and of course I'm happy for her, but here she is, telling me quite calmly that I have only two weeks before I will essentially lose her until next spring. It's enough to make a guy feel a little lost. I can't say I don't want her to go, because that will look like I don't support her. But I can't just tell her to have a good time and stay out of trouble, because then she'll think I don't love her.

I settle for snogging her again. It's just about the only part of being in a relationship I feel like I'm any good at. When she pulls back, there's a bit of blood on her lip. I am both aghast and slightly proud when I realise I drew it from her.

"That was rather . . . possessive of you," she remarks.

"Ginny," I say, trying not to sound like a whiny douchebag. "I'm just getting used to having you after you were away at school all last year. And now you're going away again, doing all this glamorous travelling and meeting people, and leaving me here by myself with nothing to do but miss you and wish you were with me."

She brightens at that, and I congratulate myself on having managed to say the right thing. She takes my arm, since the dishes are done, and pulls me to the door. We're going outside to join Molly and Teddy, it appears.

"You could try finding something to occupy your time," she says to me. "Like a job."

I blush at that. I haven't been looking for one at all, and it makes me feel sort of shiftless. All four of us—Ginny, Ron, Hermione, and myself—spent the past year studying for NEWTS, despite the fact that only one of us was the proper age for it. We took the tests a month ago, and I've been lazing around ever since. Doing a little bit of work at George's store—Merlin, it's still hard to call it that, just "George" like that without Fred— but mostly just coming over to the Burrow or spending time with Teddy. I almost feel guilty for taking the time off, when everyone else has been keeping busy with working or, in Ginny's case, final preparations for her tryout.

Of course, now I've had the time off, and Ginny probably has a point. I'd have less time to miss her if I was doing something besides sleeping in and coming over to snog—er, _see_— her. I won't miss her any less, I am sure of that, but I'll have less time to think about it.

* * *

Instead of going home to meet Andromeda to pick Teddy up, I send her a message that I will bring Teddy home in a few more hours. He's only been here a few times and this is the first time without his Grandma. He is having fun. We stay at the Burrow and soon enough there are myriad people to help me keep Teddy entertained. Arthur gets home from work, and the knowledge that Teddy and I are present brings Ron over, even though he's kind of moved into George's apartment and doesn't live here much anymore.

Percy is also here. Percy has been quietly dating a girl he met at the Ministry, but they haven't married or even moved in together yet, so Percy eats a lot of his dinners at the Burrow. I strongly suspect that he is still trying to make up for his estrangement a couple of years ago. And I have to admit that he is doing a damn fine job of it, between his attentiveness to his mother and his respectful conversations with his father. He's also sort of my hero, because within minutes he and Teddy are great friends. I don't know what I was expecting, maybe a lecture on cauldron bottoms, but instead he digs through some things from his old room, unearths his favourite storybook, and proceeds to read it to Teddy, complete with silly voices. I promise I'm not the only one who's shocked by this.

And then Hermione arrives. She is just as welcome to come without announcement as I am, so no one is very surprised by her appearance. We are all a little surprised, however, with the way she beelines for Ron and starts waving an envelope in his face and demanding to know if he got his. Sheepishly, he pulls an envelope of his own out of his pocket. I step closer, slightly distracted by the monkey grip Teddy has got on my neck, trying to see what they have.

Ginny slides in next to me. "Here's ours," she announces. "We haven't opened them yet."

"Of course we haven't, since I didn't know I had one," I say, a bit miffed that I'm the only one who doesn't know what's going on. Okay, maybe also a bit miffed that Teddy is apparently trying to claw chunks out of my flesh in an effort to remain in my arms when I want to put him down. I give up and settle him on my hip.

"The owl came when you were trying to make him nap," Ginny says.

At the mere utterance of the word "nap," Teddy begins to sniffle, which I have figured out recently is the prelude to a tantrum.

"Auntie Ginny was just making a joke," I say to him in a very bright, happy voice. "Weren't you, Auntie Ginny?"

Eyes wide at how close we are to disaster, she nods vigorously. Ron, who has witnessed a Teddy Tantrum himself, forces out a weak chuckle at the very amusing joke his sister made. Mollified, the boy settles back down with his head on my shoulder. The lack of napping this afternoon has obviously caught up to him. I can't wait until he's old enough for the connection between tired crankiness and not napping to make sense to him.

"Anyway, what the hell is it?"

I have become rather looser with language recently. Maybe I just feel that since my life might actually be under my own control for once, I can do what I like with it. Hence swearing, which thankfully doesn't bother Ginny. Let's not even bring up what happened the night Ron and I got drunk together the first time. Actually, we can't bring it up, because we've sworn each other to silence.

Hermione gives a pointed look at the little boy in my arms, but I just shrug. He's going to hear it somewhere, isn't he?

"It's our NEWT results, of course," she explains.

"Oh, right."

I am not nearly as concerned with these as anyone else in the room. Well, okay, Ginny doesn't really care that much, either. She's already on the Harpies, so the results are simply going to be the reward of her hard work, not anything life changing. My name itself is a ticket of entry into whatever job I bloody well want, so a bad NEWT score isn't going to ruin me. Of course, with the way that Hermione spent the last year threatening, cajoling, guilt-tripping, and riding us, we can't possibly have a bad NEWT score. We actually worked pretty hard. I have been entertaining ideas of getting somewhere on merit rather than fame, silly me.

So, with enthusiasm, I say, "Ready, everyone?"

We are all poised with our hands ready to tear open our envelopes (which I am able to accomplish by applying a very short-lived Sticking Charm to the sleepy toddler I am sort of still holding). Arthur and Percy are sitting on the sofa, watching, and Molly is standing in the doorway to the kitchen.

"Go!"

The sound of shredding paper fills the room, and Teddy becomes more alert. He peers down at the parchment in my hands.

"What, Hay-hee?"

(Did I say I was waiting until he was old enough to be logical? I meant I was waiting until he was old enough to pronounce the letter R.)

"It's the proof that I'm smarter than I'm given credit for," I say rather smugly.

There are some happy looks all around, in fact. I really shouldn't be smug. I didn't have anything to do besides study all year, except Andromeda's visits with my godson and a few hours here or there at the shop. Hermione did all her studying on top of working as a clerk for someone on the Wizengamot, and Ron . . . Ron really grew up this past year. He hasn't slept much. He was determined to do really well on his NEWTs, but studies have been taking a back seat to helping to run Weasley's Wizarding Wheezes. And being with George when the shop doors close.

Well . . . I suppose we've all been doing some growing up. I have the running of my own home, and the responsibility to be a role model for the little pest, here. And Ginny's been shoved into the public spotlight by dating me, just the way the rest of us were shoved a few years ago, so she's had to be way more mature than is really fair.

"Wow, Hermione," Ron is saying, looking over her parchment. "I mean, I know you're exceptionally brilliant and you've been working yourself to death, but still . . . wow."

Hermione is looking very self-satisfied, and she peeks at Ron's scores. "Wow, yourself," she says with contentment, and then they're sharing a kiss. Ginny and I roll our eyes at each other, despite the fact that I'm thinking a kiss is actually a great idea.

"Pawchment," Teddy objects, wrinkling his nose. I have to laugh at that, and he snuggles his head back down, leaving me free to compare scores.

I've got an "O" on my Defense NEWT. I am pleased as punch, to say the least. "E" in Transfiguration _and_ Charms, thank you very much. Just an "A" in Potions, but I wasn't exactly expecting a miracle. None of the three of us have a real innate talent for the subject, so I still don't totally grasp some of the concepts. I sure wasn't going to start asking Slughorn for favours, because that man keeps score. I have scraped an "E" in Astronomy, mostly just because the lack of distraction when studying alone means you actually pay attention sometimes.

Hermione has several "O" scores, and Ron got an "O" in Charms. Which doesn't actually surprise me, after all his practice at work. Hermione has nothing lower than "E" in any subject, but Ron got an "A" in Potions and in Transfiguration. Ginny's only "O" is Muggle Studies, but she has a nice healthy mix of "E"s and "A"s.

Hermione grabs my free hand and Ron's. She is brimming with tears, I am surprised to see. Hermione's not a big cryer, not even after all she's been through.

"I'm so proud of us," she says seriously. "We've done so well, and we've done it all on our own."

It's mostly true. In the aftermath of the defeat of Voldemort, we pulled ourselves together and decided to move on with life, and I was very happy about using my famous name to arrange for us to take the exams with the graduating seventh years this past spring. But we did have a lot of help from McGonagall, whom Hermione has been in constant contact with, and from Arthur, Molly, Bill and Fleur, Charlie, and Percy whenever they thought they could be of assistance. We mostly didn't bother George, because he's still struggling just to keep himself together enough to run the store.

I let go of Hermione's hand to slip my arm around Ginny, including her in this little celebration. She might have been off at school, but she worked just as hard as we did. I turn around when I realise that Arthur, Molly, and Percy are applauding the four of us. Molly comes out of the kitchen to try to hug us all at once.

"I'm proud of you lot," she says, sniffling. She's patting Ron on the back, murmuring something about her baby boy, and simultaneously trying to stroke Ginny's hair. She has every right to be proud of them, after all the work Ginny's put into her budding Quidditch career, and the way Ron is becoming such a strong person.

Teddy is getting fussy (he likes being close to precisely one person at a time, or so Andromeda tells me and so I am beginning to notice), so I back away a step. Molly moves over to me to pat my shoulder and blubber on me.

"I'm proud of you, too, Harry dear," she says. "You're becoming such a good man, with the way you look after Teddy and—"

"It isn't anything," I protest, my face heating up and squirming, knowing I can't back away from her patting hand without hurting her feelings. Really, after all the others have done, she wants to make a big deal over the fact that I take responsibility for my own godson? But the others are smiling at me, nodding their heads.

Well, yes, Teddy can be a handful. But this is the first time he's been here without Andromeda! And yes, I kind of adore him, but who wouldn't? He's really cute! Maybe I even spoil him a bit, but my own godfather bought me the most expensive broom on the market about a week after we first met, so I'm only doing what I learned. But I decide to thank Molly and get past it so we can have dinner. That huge lunch that nearly killed me seems to have digested more quickly than I thought, because I'm totally starving.

"Come on, Teddy, you have to let go. I'm just putting you in the chair so we can eat," I tell the boy in a nice, calm voice when he won't let go.

"No!" he pouts.

"Aren't you hungry, Bug?"

(Hey, it's better than Pest, right?)

"Yes."

"So you have to sit in this chair, if you want to have dinner."

"No! Stay, Hey-hee!"

He is _really_ cranky, now. It was a very big mistake to let the big innocent pleading eyes dissuade me from forcing the nap issue, earlier. I try to remind myself that this is my own fault and I am not allowed to yell at the child. Discipline, we have to work on that.

"Fine, if you promise to work on saying my name," I finally mumble, and sit down at the dinner table with the Bug in my lap. The Weasley family is indulgent about it, although I vow that next time I watch Teddy without Andromeda, I'm only keeping him through one meal. He is happy with sharing my plate, but I can't say that I am. Most of my food winds up mixed together in a truly stomach-churning mash that somehow finds its way down my shirt and into Teddy's hair, with maybe a single bite making it into his mouth. I am dismayed. I just got the cheese out of his eyebrows, and now I have to remove peas from his hair?

I try to be philosophical about it. He's still really little, and he'll grow out of it. At least I'm not Andromeda, having to deal with him all the time. But I still grumble while I take him upstairs to wash out his hair and try to remove mashed vegetables from my clothing. Until I start blowing raspberries into his chubby little tummy, and he starts shrieking with laughter and saying "Pwease, Hey-hee, pwease!" Now we're having a great time.

Oh, hell. I guess I'm doing better at this than most teenagers would be.

* * *

Half an hour into my nineteenth birthday party, I'm already wishing it's over. I don't know where Hermione found the time to set this all up, or how she wheedled Kreacher into it, but she actually managed to throw a birthday party at my own house without telling me until the morning of.

It's a good enough party, I have to admit. Hermione worked hard. Neville came, and he surprised everyone by not only bringing Hannah Abbot with him, but by not letting go of her hand since the moment they arrived. Luna is here, too, being her usual dreamy-eyed and cheerful self, and Dean Thompson and Seamus Finnegan have stopped by for a few minutes. All of the Weasleys are here (except Ginny), even Bill and Fleur with their baby girl Victoire, and Percy has brought his girlfriend. And that's pretty much the extent of my circle of friends, at least the way it is since the war ended. I no longer feel in any way comfortable around the rest of the people I used to know, after the suffering they went through that I had so much to do with. Merlin help me if I could ever look Dennis Creevey in the eye again. (No, doctor, I'm not projecting my guilt onto people who don't blame me. A year of repressed emotions and beating myself up can't possibly be as unhealthy as you make it seem!)

Anyway, the smallness of my group of friends is making me depressed. So is the way George is drinking too much and getting maudlin, so that Ron is sort of following him around instead of enjoying things. Although I think the main reason for my depression is that Ginny isn't here. She left for her training camp two days ago. I already miss her. I'm sort of wishing that I had told everyone I was celebrating my birthday by having a cake with the Bug and going to bed early.

Instead, I force myself to be cheerful, to show Hermione I appreciate it if nothing else. I chatter with Neville about his work at a huge magical nursery in the Irish countryside, and am startled to hear that Hannah is now the cook at the Leaky Cauldron in London. Luna is apparently her father's only assistant for his magazine, and she's a surprisingly coherent and detailed author. She still sort of marches to her own tune, but I admire that a lot more than I'm embarrassed by it, these days. Seamus and Dean are both in entry-level positions at the Ministry. Seamus likes the Department of Magical Sports and Games, but Dean is talking about trying to get a position at _The Daily Prophet_ instead.

It brings home to me that I still haven't started looking for work. I really should. I can't mope around this dank old house forever. Everyone else is accepting their age and doing something with their life, and here I am sitting around being bored and making no contribution to the world. I did get rid of Voldemort and all, true, but no contributions _lately_. I think about volunteering for more hours at the shop, but I'm not really any good at the work and they don't need the extra pair of hands, anyway.

An hour into the party, I helplessly say goodnight as Ron and Charlie take George home. I want to kick everybody out right then. It's been over a year, and George still can't really cope. Fred's death has been hard on everyone, that goes without saying, but George . . . I know it's not my fault, I _know_ that, but I still can't deal with seeing what he goes through, what Ron goes through trying to help him. I try to go back to talking with Neville and Hannah, but it's become awkward, and they decide to say goodnight. Seamus and Dean do the same, and then Percy and his girl depart, then Bill and Fleur insist that little Victoire must be put to bed. Arthur and Molly return home, too.

Then it's just me, Hermione, and Luna. Luna doesn't look the least uncomfortable, and she volunteers to clean up the leftover food and drink that Hermione and Kreacher prepared. I want to tell her to leave it for Kreacher, but I stop myself, for two reasons. First, Kreacher is really getting old and the mess is rather large. Also, I hate thinking of Luna going back to a lonely house with only her barmy old dad for company. So I just smile and thank her. The three of us begin gathering things up to be put away and washed.

"Thanks for the party, Hermione. It was really nice of you."

Hermione gives me a sad smile. "I thought we could all use a night that was fun," she shrugs. "We missed the other birthdays because we were so busy studying this year, and I thought we could take advantage of yours being in the summer."

"It was fun," I insist, despite the fact that this is clearly a lie. "It was nice to get to catch up with everyone." I turn to Luna. "Thank you for being here."

"It _was_ nice," she says after a slow moment of digesting my words. "Nice to have friends again. I had Ginny at school this year, of course, but with school over I don't see anyone anymore."

I feel a pang of guilt over this. (Just one more thing to add to the list, right?) The other Hogwarts students don't need me for anything, they have their own lives, but I have forgotten how lonely Luna is sometimes. I make the decision, here and now, that I won't be so neglectful of her after this. I'll try to make sure we get together with her more often, and maybe with Neville and Hannah, as well.

"After everything we've been through, we've learned who our real friends are," I say, and I give both women a very genuine smile. It's been a depressing evening, but there is at least this bright spot. "And you two are people that I can see being in my life for a very long time."

They both smile back and assure me that they feel the same way about me. The room is cleaned up now, and they both depart, but I feel less inclined to get drunk and miserable. I am, however, bored, without a focused study schedule to adhere to. Maybe I should get a television.

Then there is movement in the next room, and I stiffen. I go over my list of party guests and conclude that everyone who was present has definitely left. It's possible that someone came back, I suppose, but I didn't discover any forgotten belongings while cleaning and I don't know what they would have come back for. I draw my wand and cast a Disillusionment Charm on myself. I'm not fantastic at those yet, by any means, especially not when self-casting, but the house is kind of dark and it will hold up long enough for me to get the element of surprise.

"Harry, where are you?" calls a familiar voice.

I immediately reverse the spell and tuck away my wand, practically sprinting toward her as she enters the room. "Ginny! You're here!"

Ginny looks around. "Hermione said there was a party."

"There was," I shrug. "It's over."

"Short party," is her only comment.

"I didn't think you'd be here. How did you get away? How long can you stay? I'm really happy to see you," I remember to add onto my questions, as I wrap my arms around her waist and pull her against me. She comes willingly.

"It's amazing what dropping the name Harry Potter will get you," she says, looking up at me with a suggestive eyebrow wiggle.

I groan at that.

She chuckles. "No, really, we had a good day today so Miss Jones said it was okay if I came down here tonight, so long as I am on my broom and bright-eyed at precisely eight o'clock tomorrow morning."

"I have you until eight?" I smile.

She tries to give me a stern look. "I plan on getting at least a bit of sleep."

The stern look melts when I kiss her. Then we go up to my bedroom and the rest of the night passes far too quickly. It's not our first time (that was on her seventeenth birthday, unbeknownst to anyone else), but this is still very new for us and we like to take our time exploring. There's a lot of undignified giggling involved, but also some very gratifying moans of pleasure.

In the very early morning, when I feel like we've just gone to sleep, Ginny slips out of the bed and wakens me.

"Going so soon?" I whisper, blinking sleep from my eyes and fumbling for my glasses.

"Got to get started back," she says, kissing my forehead, and taking the glasses away from me. "Just go back to sleep."

"When will you be back?"

"Training camp is over at the end of August, and I'll be here for a week. We'll talk then about when you and I can visit each other during the season."

I nod a bit dumbly.

"Hopefully you'll have found something to do by then," she teases.

I nod, still feeling heavy and slow. "I'm going to sign up for the Auror programme," I say with a yawn, then freeze in the act of burrowing into my bed. What did I just say?

"When did you decide that?" Ginny asks, apparently thinking the same thing I am.

"Er, just now . . ."

"What brought this on?"

"Good at it," I mumble, now feeling grumpy about still being awake. She should be leaving, right? I'll see her in a few weeks, and sleep is good. "Logical choice."

"I guess it is," she says, kissing my forehead again. I manage to fumble one hand out of the covers to give her a farewell pat, which lands in a rather interesting location. "Well, Harry, I would say I'm game for another quick one, but I don't think you are," she jokes.

I remove my hand from her breast (though it is something of a struggle). "Bye. See you."

"Be careful," Ginny whispers, and then she's gone.

* * *

**_A/N:_** _Don't let this first chapter fool you—it starts out looking like it fills in the gap between the final chapter of DH and the epilogue of DH, but it goes far off track in mid-third and fourth chapter. This is a story about the medical mysteries involved in being the child of a werewolf and a Metamorphmagus, and about the prejudices and hate directed at such mysteries. A Harry-raises-Teddy story with a very sad twist. There are no big enemies or battles, but plenty of conflict._

_It is also the story of how Harry discovers that friendship and respect are just as good a beginning to love as instant attraction and flirting. I'm not telling the final pairing for Harry, but suffice it to say that it's not Ginny._


	2. Chapter 2

_**A/N:** Well, despite the fact that someone said I should count 6,987 votes in their review of The Mirror of Souls, I'm going to call this story the clear winner, and I will be continuing this one. However, due to the enthusiasm expressed for both of the other two stories, I will likely finish them as well — not simultaneously, but I will probably begin posting the continuation of Scars as soon as Going Home is finished (that one seemed to be everyone's "second choice"), and follow it up with MoS. I will need a little time to finalize the details of this story and get further along in the writing, so chapters 3-? may take a while. Once I have a good outline written up, I will go back to my once-weekly posting awesomeness. :) Enjoy chapter 2!_

* * *

Chapter Two

Here's to Orphans

Life moves too fast.

I got up from the bed where Ginny and I spent the night on my nineteenth birthday and located my NEWT scores so I could take them down to the Ministry to register for the Auror training programme. Then things began to happen so quickly that it became a blur. Now I'm dropping into a seat to take a deep breath, and I'm realising that the birthday party in question was _three years ago_. My first unsupervised assignment as a full-fledged Auror was today, and it was a smooth, incident-free arrest of a guy who was spelling the sale items in a department store to attack the shoppers.

Three years just went by? Really?

Yeah. Has to be true. I'm twenty-two, I remember making a big deal out of how old I'm getting for a dead guy (no, doctor, I'm not avoiding traumatic events in my life through humour), and I've finally completed my training programme. I tell myself that it's hardly surprising that I missed the passage of time. I've been busy. Work has taken up a lot of time, and so has staying in touch with my friends. I've been trying to keep up with my girlfriend's busy life as the star Chaser of the Holyhead Harpies, and I travel to watch her play when I can.

I don't have time to sit here and contemplate the whirlwind of the past three years, though. Andromeda is calling from the fireplace to make sure she's clear to come through, so I wave her through. She arrives with a whoosh a moment later, one arm firmly pressing Teddy against her and the other clutching a large bag.

"Hello, Harry," she says formally, stepping clear of the fireplace.

"Hello, Miss Andromeda," I reply politely, though I'm dying to point out that there's not really any need to stand on ceremony around here.

I wouldn't have gotten more than two words out, anyway, because here comes Teddy. He crashes against me, throws his arms around me, and burrows his head under my arm. I give him a good, long hug in return, ruffling his hair, which is nice and normal and brown today.

"Hi, Harry," he says cheerfully, tilting up his head to look at me.

"Hi, Bug," I answer, chucking him under the chin. I see Andromeda is just standing there with a severe look, so I reckon that whatever she's waiting to say is nothing Teddy needs to hear. "Take your bag up to your room and get it unpacked, okay? I want to talk to your grandma for a minute, then you can say goodbye to her."

Teddy grabs the bag from Andromeda, which is far too heavy for him. I cast a Lightening Charm on it so he can lug it upstairs, and he gives me a disgusted look.

"I can carry it without _help_."

"Oh, I know," I say in my most casual voice. "I'm just practising that charm for work."

It's a good enough excuse; I've been constantly practising spells around the house all through my training. Sad, how I'd always thought school would be over when I left Hogwarts.

"What did you pack all that for?" I ask Andromeda with amusement. "He's got clothes and toys and everything here already."

"I just wanted to make sure he was prepared," Andromeda answers, but she does look a bit embarrassed. She probably didn't think about all the things I keep for Teddy here at the house. She's nothing if not over-prepared and over-protective of him.

"Prepared for a siege," I chuckle as I hear the bag thumping up the stairs. "Anyway, is something wrong?"

Andromeda looks uncertain, which is something I don't often see from her. She's too self-possessed to reveal uncertainty, most of the time.

"I'm not sure I should leave."

"But he's spent the night plenty of times before," I protest.

"This is such a long time, though. It's different."

"It's a week. We're going to be fine, I promise. You know I won't let him come to any harm."

Andromeda doesn't look convinced. "I'm not worried about that. I'm just worried that he'll become ill. You can't be expected to know how to deal with a sick child."

I hadn't forgotten about this, but I didn't really include it in my plans for the week. I should have. Teddy was a colicky baby, and he's been a sickly child. He's forever coming down with a fever and having to stay in bed for a day or two. His Healer has assured Andromeda many times that some children just go through a phase like this, and that they grow out of it. Teddy's five years old, but he hasn't grown out of it yet.

I hear thumping upstairs, and a giggle. Kreacher appears, looking pained.

"You may have the rest of the day off," I tell him, knowing he is looking for permission to retreat from the noise of a rambunctious child.

Hasn't grown out of it, but doesn't let being sickly slow him down, either.

"You shouldn't worry about it," I tell Andromeda firmly. "Even if he does get sick, which I don't think he will, I can take care of him. I know what to do for a fever, and I know Molly will have some advice if I need it. Not to mention the fact that you told me how to contact the Healer who's seen him, and how to contact you. You need a holiday, Andromeda. Just enjoy it. We'll be fine."

She's obviously not ready to do this, but I herd her toward the door, talking all the while about the fun we'll have. Teddy's never been away from her for a minute, unless he's with me. That's been rather infrequent, with how busy I've been, and I'm anxious for Teddy to have some "guy time." Andromeda understands how it is, since her daughter went through this training, but I hate disappointing Teddy—and I want to toughen the kid up a little, I have to admit. He spends most of his time with his worrywart of a grandmother, and I don't want to have another Neville on my hands when it's time for him to start school.

So, I usher Andromeda out and tell her to have fun on her Mediterranean cruise, and close the door behind her, then lock it and lean against it for good measure. I am smiling. A week of just being guys. It should be fun. I wouldn't have thought so a couple of years ago, when Teddy was potty-training, and I would have been freaked by this when Andromeda first started taking him to a Healer about being sick so much. But we're used to things, now. And I have plans.

I hurry upstairs to make sure that Teddy is okay unpacking the completely unnecessary things Andromeda put together. He already has clothes here, and toys and games, since he has spent the night. I find Teddy carefully setting a pair of mittens on his nightstand, and I wonder what on earth he is doing with mittens in the summer.

"What are those for?"

Teddy looks embarrassed and mumbles something, and I wonder if they're his version of a security blanket. I decide not to ask him to repeat himself, and let him have his privacy. Every boy, even a very young one, needs a little of that. He reaches into his bag and pulls out a small stack of books, which he puts on the shelf where his toys and things are. He gives me a shy look, just a peek through the fringe of his hair, really, and I grin in return. He's obviously very proud of having these books along, and he wants me to see that he's learning how to read. I pick one up.

"Oh, a Quidditch story!" I say with as much enthusiasm as I can without making him think I'm faking it. I _am_ proud, actually, learning to read is quite an accomplishment and I'm glad Andromeda has taught him so soon. "Is it any good?"

Teddy nods so that he looks like an eager puppy. His eyes grow round, ready to impress me. "I could read it to you."

"That would be great," I answer, sitting down on the bed. "I'd love to hear it."

Teddy frowns at me. "I'm s'posed to unpack."

I give him a lazy smile. "You know how Grandma is on holiday this week? That means you're on holiday, as well. You're only supposed to have fun."

Teddy is very wide-eyed at this. Grandma can be a bit strict, from what I've seen. I just don't have it in me to be strict on anybody who isn't planning to duel Dark wizards. He grabs the book happily, but gives me another shy look through his hair instead of opening it.

"Don't you have to work, Harry? I can read by myself."

Oh. Ouch. Well, damn. I've been busier than I realised. I know I've neglected my godson some, but I didn't think he'd gotten so used to it. He's actually expecting me to leave him here alone while I run off to the Ministry? I am the worst godfather ever. And I had better start making up for it right now, because I couldn't look Remus and Tonks in the eyes at this point.

"No, I don't," I say, putting an arm around him and pulling him into my side. "At least, not much. Tomorrow I have to work a bit, but you'll get to see your Auntie Molly at the Burrow."

"And Uncle Percy?"

Yeah, he really likes Percy. Go figure.

"No, probably not, Bug. You remember, he married Miss Audrey and they have their own house to live in, now."

Teddy nods, a bit crestfallen.

"But," I continue, knowing the next piece of information will help, "you know what we're going to do the day after tomorrow?"

He shakes his head. "Tell me!" he demands, bouncing a little.

"We're going to spend the whole day together, and we'll go to Diagon Alley." Yes, I got the day off the same week as my first assignment. Sometimes it really does pay to be Harry Potter. I usually don't like the special treatment, but I happen to think this is for a good cause.

He bounces some more. "Really, Harry?"

Okay, the amount of excitement is just piling the guilt on even thicker. It shouldn't be so amazing and unexpected for me to take him out once in a while, even if my job is demanding and my girlfriend is hard to keep up with. Okay, maybe it should be amazing, but that just means I should be an amazing godfather.

"Yes," I assure him. "We'll go visit George's store, and we'll get some treats for my owl, and maybe we'll even have ice cream."

Teddy is enraptured. "Can we get lunch from Miss Hannah, Harry? Please?"

"Of course lunch at the Leaky Cauldron, that goes without saying. But that's two whole days away, Bug. We have things to do today, first."

"Like what?"

"Well, I very much want to have you read me this story. Then I think we should go downstairs and make ourselves dinner, and after we do that, we could listen to the radio and play games until your bedtime. What do you say?"

"Okay," he says, happy as a niffler in a Gringotts vault. He cracks open his book and takes on a very self-important posture. "'When Kevin was a litt-le boy, he dream-ed of being the best Quidditch pla-yeer the world had ever seen . . ." His reading is halting, stumbling through words he doesn't know, but displaying a remarkable level of patience and determination. I am utterly enthralled by the story, not because poor Kevin who didn't own a broom is particularly intriguing, but because it's magical to have a little boy whose nappies I was forced to change become old enough to read aloud. And this long-suffering manner of his, trudging through the difficult words because he is bound and determined to prove his academic prowess . . . he's his father's son, right enough. I just know Remus was exactly like Teddy when he was this age.

We go down to the kitchen afterward, and Teddy climbs into a kitchen chair with a toy hippogriff to play with. If it was Kreacher cooking, Teddy would have played in his bedroom, but he likes to watch me when I do. I have other ideas, tonight.

"Teddy, how would you like to help me?"

He gives me that round-eyed look that I love so much, this surprised and pleased look that says he wasn't expecting such consideration but adores you for giving it to him. He's so easy to please, it's almost pathetic.

"I can set the table, like at home," he offers cautiously.

"Why don't we set the table together, and then you can help me cook?"

"I can?"

"Yes, it's going to be fun."

Teddy is thrilled, which amuses me to no end. Cooking is not thrilling, not in the least. Which is why I tend to let Kreacher do it when I get tired of bologna sandwiches and packaged soup. But I like to cook for Teddy, and it's high time he started learning. I was already making whole meals by myself when I was his age. I reflect somewhat ruefully that my life isn't exactly the standard to judge by, but I think Teddy is really excited to do something that he's only seen grownups do. (Ha! Me, a grownup?)

"Okay. I think we'll make some fried potatoes and sausages, how does that sound?"

"Yummy," he says sincerely.

"Good," I answer, and give him a potato to peel. Luckily I have acquired a peeler, since I'm not about to give a little kid like him a knife. I can only imagine the newspaper the next day if I show up at St. Mungo's with my godson in one hand and a pile of his severed fingers in the other. Personally, I had to use a knife when I was young, but nicking my fingers didn't get me any sympathy, it got me a cuff on the back of the head for getting blood in the food and wasting it. I got good at using a knife pretty quick.

Teddy manages to nick one of his fingers, even with the "safe" peeler, and immediately begins to sniffle. I am still thinking about my own early years, and I am determined that Teddy will never have to wonder if his family gives a shit about him. It's tough being an orphan, you know? You get to wondering if anybody wants you, and . . . well. Maybe that was just me. Still, better not to take chances.

"Come here," I say, picking him up and settling in a chair with him in my lap. "Let's see." It is a very tiny cut, hardly even bleeding. "Oh, that's awful," I say, poking out my lower lip in imitation of his own expression. "Does it hurt terribly?"

He nods his head gravely. "I'll be fine," he says, trying to sound dignified but instead sounding tearful.

I kiss the injured digit with similar gravity. "I'll fix it right up," I promise, and tap his finger with my wand. An extensive part of my training has dealt with in-the-field medical emergencies, and Aurors are expected to be able to give mild to moderate aid to their partners. Even if Teddy had actually cut off his fingers, I probably could have attached them. Although I imagine I'd have been panicking instead. There is a huge difference between a grown man getting injured and a little kid you're supposed to be taking care of, after all.

Teddy is not in the least amazed by my work, but he does say thank you when he hops down from my lap. I'm glad he's grown up around magic and that he isn't surprised by such things. I don't think my own introduction to the wizarding world was particularly good (there are, in fact, still things that startle me sometimes) and I am glad Teddy doesn't have to come into it like that. Although I'm sort of dreading the inevitable day he steals my wand and tries to use it, something both Andromeda and Molly assure me every wizard child does at some point.

After that, dinner preparations are smooth, and we eat with gusto. Teddy believes that the food tastes better than usual, because of his help, and I assure him that I never would have managed without his assistance. (It's almost true—if he hadn't been here, I would have made do with peanut butter.) Then we retreat to the sitting room, where we can play. This is where I keep a few books I've received as gifts, along with the texts I have read during my training. It doesn't contain any old textbooks because I donated those back to school.

On sudden impulse, I clear off one of the lowest bookshelves and consolidate everything higher up.

"What are you doing, Harry?"

"Making some room. Now that you are learning to read, you'll need a place to put your books."

"I just have the ones I brought over," he objects.

"I bet you'll have more soon, so I want to be ready. You should have a special place in here for yours."

Teddy is beaming at that. I decide not to tell him that the reason I am so certain of his needing this shelf is because Hermione will eventually find out his new talent. And then there will be gifts from her, and things will steadily move beyond my control. Poor Teddy.

Tonight, though, is not for learning. Tonight is for fun. So we play Go Fish (which, as we are wizards, includes some very real and very theatrical fish) and listen to the radio. I contemplate the idea of moving into a house with electricity so I can introduce Teddy to the concept of the telly. Then I think about how obsessed most Muggles are with the box, and I decide this might not be such a good idea. It's funny, now that I think about it. When I left my aunt and uncle's home for the last time at age seventeen, I voluntarily gave up television, computers, electric light, and dishwashers, and I haven't missed any of it. I still really want to learn how to drive a car, which I haven't done yet, but none of the rest of it has ever seemed that important.

I guess I was cut out to be a wizard, all along.

* * *

"Teddy Lupin, you come here and give me a hug," Hannah demands, and Teddy is only too happy to rush behind the counter to comply. He's the only patron I know that is allowed to cross that sacred barrier, but Hannah is a pushover for Teddy. Actually, I think she's a pushover for all little kids, but not too many of those come into the Leaky Cauldron, to be honest.

"Hi, Hannah," I say, leaning on the bar, knowing better than to think she loves me enough to let me cross behind the counter.

"Afternoon, Harry," she says. There is flour all over her apron, but her hair is perfect, as always. Neville has confided in me that her beautiful hair is half the reason he fell in love with her. And thinking of Ginny and her waves of burnished red hair, I can very much relate. "What are the two of you up to?"

"We're having an outing!" Teddy announces, releasing her from the hug and coming back around to my side of the bar. He, too, knows Hannah better than to think he's allowed to overstay his welcome back there. She doesn't own the place—yet—but it is unanimously agreed that she's in charge. "We get to shop and maybe have ice cream if I'm good!"

Hannah raises an eyebrow at me. "I do hope ice cream is not your idea of lunch."

"I am perfectly capable of feeding Teddy, whatever you are implying," I say in a very put-on hurt voice. But I smile at her. "Why do you think we came in?"

Hannah rolls her eyes. "Silly me, to think you might stop in just to say hello."

"We came to see you, Miss Hannah!" Teddy insists.

"That's right," I nod.

"Cause you're the best cook ever."

"Well, that, too," I grin.

Hannah can't fake the offended attitude for very long, since Teddy's enthusiasm is quite complimentary. She begins brushing the flour off her apron.

"Well, Teddy, I have been making some very delicious beef pasties. How would that suit you?"

He gives her that big-eyed look, and she's just as taken in by him as I am. Totally not fair, the way he can do that.

"Yes, please, Miss Hannah," he says politely. And I am glad, despite how much I wanted this boy's-only week with him, that Andromeda has the primary raising of him. I never would have managed to instill any manners in him.

"Harry?"

"Sounds perfect," I say.

"Why don't you two sit down at that table in the corner, there? Neville said he was going to stop in for lunch, and you can all sit together."

Teddy is excited to find out that Neville will be here, and I'm rather pleased, myself. He, Hannah, and Luna are the only friends I'm still hanging onto from our school days (except Hermione and the Weasleys, of course), and I don't actually see him that often. In fact, Neville comes in only a moment later, before we even make our way over to the table.

"Oh, hello," he says when he sees us. "Didn't expect to run into the two of you!"

"Neville." I greet him with a nice, manly handshake. It still feels a little bit weird, the two of us being fully-grown adults now. But Neville ended up being a lot more fully-grown than me. I tell myself I am not jealous of his height and muscles, because being short and wiry is why I was such a good Seeker. But since I'm not a Seeker anymore, and I am in a job where looking intimidating is helpful, my attempts to not be jealous don't work too well. Ah, well, can't have everything, can I?

Teddy says hello, and tries to shake Neville's hand, but my friend just laughs and pulls Teddy into a hug. Neville's not the most demonstrative guy, but maybe it's just how cute Teddy is. Really, who _wouldn't_ love it if the Bug was squeezing them and giving them those adoring eyes? I sharply remind myself that I am not a sap, and Aurors do not find small children cute. Okay, not most small children.

Neville leans over the bar and kisses his fiancee with joy, and she shoos us over to the table and sends us a pasty each floating across the room, laughing when we have to reach up and snatch it before it goes past our table. Teddy digs in happily, but I try to demonstrate some level of decorum. It's kind of hard, because Hannah really is a fantastic cook.

"How's your training going, Harry? I feel like I haven't talked to you in ages."

"You probably haven't," I grimace. "But all that keeping my nose to the grindstone paid off! I had my first solo mission this week."

"That's great! How'd it go?"

"Perfect!" I declare, then my mouth is too full to speak again for a minute. When I do, I change the subject. "What about you, how's work?" I am pretty sure he's still at the nursery, but don't want to embarrass myself. It must be a few months since we last spoke.

"Good," Neville says, shrugging. "I got promoted, so I—"

"You got promoted again? That's brilliant? What are you, the owner of the nursery by now?"

Neville was obviously trying to skip right past this and just describe something he has been doing, but I won't let him. I know how self-deprecating he can be, but he should have a few accolades for his accomplishments.

"No, nothing like that. Just a general manager, overseeing a few things, you know."

"Congratulations," I tell him earnestly.

Teddy looks up from his meal, gravy smeared on his chin, to say, "Congramblations, sir."

"Teddy, you can call me Neville," he says with embarrassment.

"Okay." That is apparently satisfactory enough, because he goes straight back to attacking his meal.

"Have you told Ginny your training is over?"

I shake my head slowly, and I feel that strange tripping in my heart, the same feeling I've been getting every time I think about Ginny this week. "She has a game tomorrow that I'm going to attend, and I was going to tell her then."

"Harry, are you blushing?" he asks incredulously.

"No," I answer automatically, even though I can feel it in my cheeks.

"You are so, Harry," Teddy speaks up. "You said no lying, that's the rules."

I had indeed made one of the rules of the house that Teddy couldn't lie to me, and so I can't lie to him—a rule I made, incidentally, when I found out he'd been lying about needing to pee and then Kreacher ended up having a very distasteful cleaning task and being surly with me for an entire week. And the rule has worked out pretty well. But I could strangle the Bug, at the moment.

"Well, I've been thinking . . . I'm an official Auror now, and everything. Maybe it's time for me to . . . well, to ask her . . ."

Neville is wide-eyed. "Are you going to propose?"

I nod mutely, and stuff a big bite of my pasty into my mouth so I won't have to say anything else for a minute. I've been thinking about this all week. Now that I have a steady job, one with a regular schedule, it might be time for me to do this. But that doesn't mean I'm ready to talk to Neville about it. But now I feel stupid. Who else should I talk to about it? Neville's engaged! I suppose I was thinking I should tell Ron first, but Ron already knows I mean to, and he'll start feeling pressured to ask Hermione and that makes him snap at me.

"Yeah, I just think it's time," I finally say.

Neville gives me a strange look. "Aren't you excited about it?"

I shrug. "Honestly, I feel like I'm going to puke every time I think about it. Which isn't all that romantic, you know? But we've already said . . . I mean, I know she's going to say yes, so why am I so worried about it? Did you feel like this when you asked Hannah?"

Now it's Neville's turn to blush. "Well, it was more like . . . okay, I was scared half to death. I actually had to say to myself, 'You told Voldemort to go to hell, you can ask Hannah a question.' Stupid, right?"

"No," I mutter. I believe I told myself something very similar a few days ago, when I graduated the training programme and realised what it meant. In fact, I think what I said was, _"You were ready to die for her and now you can't even hand her a ring?" _So I definitely see where Neville is coming from. "Do you think it's supposed to be this scary?" I ask him. Yet another one of the questions I never got to ask my own father, I think to myself. I've been running into more and more of those the older I get, somehow. I thought there would be less.

Neville shrugs. "I thought it was just because I'm sort of a coward," he confesses.

I can't help but laugh, and I almost choke on the flaky crust of my food. "Neville," I wheeze, tears in my eyes, "you are anything but that."

Neville looks genuinely confused.

"Told Voldemort to go to hell?" I remind him.

He looks far more cheerful then. I try not to roll my eyes. I had thought he'd grow out of this phase, especially now that he's getting married. But he's the same old Neville, surprised as hell every time he does something right. Well, okay, he's not that bad anymore, but he does still have a sort of low opinion of himself. Which means he must be frighteningly good at his job, because he didn't get promoted due to his confidence.

Teddy has successfully made a right mess of his meal, and he's watching us with a deep frown on his face. I don't like that look he's wearing.

"What is it, Bug?"

"You said my mummy and daddy died because some mean people killed them."

I nod slowly, feeling an ache. I have always wished I had been told what really happened to my own parents earlier than I was. But now I wonder if thinking it was a car accident might not have been a kindness to me. Teddy's too young to have these things on his mind.

"They worked for a bad man named Voldemort who told them to kill my parents."

I nod again.

"Voldemort is the bad man who killed your mummy and daddy, Harry."

"Yes," I answer, not sure where this is going. Neville looks horrified.

Teddy turns to Neville. "You said a bad word to _him_?"

Neville turns deep red. "I was very . . . angry, at the time."

Teddy suddenly jumps out of his chair and comes around the table to give Neville a big hug. "You're cool, just like Harry," he says.

And I start laughing, letting out that ache and tension. Yes, Neville really is cool, way more so than I am. Look what he did with the DA while I was out tromping through the woods and nearly getting myself killed with Ron and Hermione. Neville just looks stunned. He hugs Teddy back and thanks him. Then Teddy, apparently finished eating and bored by sitting around talking, decides to go bother Hannah. I seize the opportunity to relax a bit, getting Neville and I each an ale and sitting back down. I love the Bug, but this is our third day together and I'm worn out. Even the ever-maternal Molly Weasley looked a bit ragged when I picked him up yesterday after work, although she was cheerful about the prospect of taking him again tomorrow.

"So, Teddy and I are going to watch her game tomorrow, and I know I can talk her into having dinner, and I could ask her then, but . . . I have to do something with Teddy. The Bug is cute and all, but I'm not sure I can snog her properly with him watching."

Neville chuckles. "Yeah, I can see how that might ruin the mood." He looks thoughtful. "Blimey, Harry, I'd offer to watch him for a bit, but I have to do something at work. I'm sorry."

I shrug. "I'll think of something."

"Do you have a ring for her?" Neville asks in a hushed voice.

I think I am blushing again. "Yes. I've had it for quite a while. It was actually really weird. I have my mother's wedding ring, and I thought maybe . . . but instead I saw one in Diagon Alley almost a year ago, and it looked perfect for Ginny, so I just walked in and got it. The person who sold it to me knew who I was, and I could just see they were preparing a cute little quip to give the newspaper when Ginny showed up for her next game wearing it." I shake my head, and force a smile. "I wasn't about to let 'em have the satisfaction. That's when I decided to wait until after I finished my training."

Neville makes a face at me. "Do you hate being famous?"

I nod fervently. "I thought people would get used to it eventually, you know? I mean, all that business has been over with for years! Ginny deals with it a lot better than I do, but then, she's famous for actually doing something now. I'm just famous for being _alive_, of all the stupid things." Then I cock my head a bit, as a thought occurs to me. "Actually, that's sort of important, isn't it? You and I, and Hannah, and Ginny, and all of us . . . being alive. After everything that happened, I reckon it is something of an accomplishment." I look over to the bar, where the Bug is squirming like mad while Hannah attempts to wipe off his face with a cleaning rag. "Not everybody managed it," I mutter. Teddy's parents, and my own, and Neville's parents as well. His parents both passed away a few months apart, two years ago. They just . . . wasted away.

"Hey," Neville says quietly. "We're talking about happy things, here. We're making new families, aren't we?"

I shrug, and raise my glass, which is nearly empty. "To orphans," I say. "May we always look at the bright side of things."

Neville clinks his glass against mine, giving me a wry look, and we down our drinks. Then I go collect Teddy before he drives Hannah insane, and steel myself for an afternoon of chasing him down and keeping him under control. I am almost dreading our visit to Uncle George, or rather, his store, rife with opportunities for destruction, but that is where we're headed.

We get a lot of looks as we make our way down the street. I am only just now thinking about it, but this is probably the first time I have appeared in public with Teddy, just the two of us. It's for Teddy's protection, mostly; Andromeda doesn't take him out amongst crowds when she can help it. It's not that Teddy has a problem with people, it's that people are sodding morons and treat him badly because his father was a werewolf. It's stupid, I know, but people are . . . well, they're sodding morons, aren't they? There are so many people watching us and trying to get our attention that Diagon Alley feels more crowded than it really is. I kind of wish we could just duck back into the Leaky Cauldron, sanctuary under the strict eye of Hannah Abbot, who would toss out on their ear anyone who tried to bother me for an autograph while I'm eating.

Instead of retreating, I take Teddy's hand so I don't lose track of him and I hold my head high. There are few people who actually know I'm his godfather, and I've sort of made it look like we're not that close. Like I said, for Teddy's protection. Although I am guiltily thinking that it was only too easy to pull off, with how little time I've really spent with him. Once every couple of months isn't going to do anymore. I'm going to do better. That settled in my mind, I squeeze the Bug's hand so that he loses that frightened look and just presses in closer to me.

"You're all right," I assure him.

He just nods.

I decide not to call him Bug in front of anyone. If I want people to leave him alone, it wouldn't exactly help things if they find out my pet name for him. We get inside Weasley's Wizarding Wheezes, which is pretty full despite the slow day the shops seem to be having, but I breathe a sigh of relief at being off the street. I am immediately caught up in showing Teddy the most age-appropriate things I can find (which are surprisingly hard to come by in this store), and we soon forget about being famous because we're having fun playing with some gag gifts.

"Is there anything I can help you find?"

I look up to see a perky young blond thing in astoundingly bright green robes smiling at us. I immediately peg her as a bit vacant but mostly harmless. I smile at her.

"Well, if Mr. or Mrs. Weasley is in the store, I'd love to see them, but other than that, we're fine."

The perky young blond thing loses the smile, and proves my assumption. "Well, she is, that is, Mrs. Weasley is in the store, but if there's a problem, I can assist you, I'm sure." She is almost ready to wring her hands. "Have you had a problem?"

"No, nothing like that. I just wanted to say hello."

She gives me a doubtful look, and I sigh.

"Never mind, dear, we're fine right now. Thank you for asking."

She leaves, looking completely lost, but I don't really need her. I have a stake in this store, and I could probably just go back to the offices to look for the proprietors if I really wanted to. I'm not the intrusive type, though, so I instead lead Teddy up to the front. Lo and behold, there is Angelina. I want to find the perky witch and tell her she is making her own job way too difficult, but instead I go up to the counter.

"Hello, Angelina."

"Ah, Harry! How are you?"

"I'm well. And you? How are you settling in, here?" I've heard some of the disaster stories of her first couple of weeks on the job.

She makes a face. "I wouldn't call it smooth sailing, but I haven't destroyed anything recently."

George married Angelina a few months ago. It was a very simple ceremony, and small. Mostly just the Weasley family, Angelina's parents, and a couple of people from our old Quidditch team. But we all agree that Angelina deserved the most lavish wedding of the century, despite her preference being for something low-key. The girl I knew as a tough-as-nails Quidditch captain miraculously commanded George right out of his depression and into a relationship with her. We all decided she was the most beautiful and amazing woman we'd ever known, but no one is a bigger fan of her than Ron is. It was actually a bit hard of him to let George go and give him over to her care, after how much he's poured into keeping George going the last few years. But now that they're married, Ron is able to have his own life, and he's enjoying that immensely.

"How's George?" I ask a bit more seriously.

She grins. "He took the day off."

I blink, and when I open my eyes she is still there, smiling. "He what?"

"I know. But yeah, he really took the day off. So that he could, and I quote, 'get some rest and have some fun.'"

"George is resting and having fun," I repeat slowly. "All right, Angelina, the game is up. You've got him under the Imperius curse, haven't you?"

Angelina just laughs and jokes back—this is part of the reason we love her, she just refuses to accept George's overworked and underemotional state is in any way his normal behaviour, and bulldozes right through any references to it. "If I had, you'd arrest me, so I won't tell you!"

"Really, though, I'm glad to hear it. You're good for him. You know, I have this image of you in my head, that you diagram your day on a chalkboard by the breakfast table, and if he gets depressed, you smack Bludgers at him and tell him to snap out of it because you have a game to win . . ." I have to stop, because she is pelting me with some kind of sweet that I don't want to touch me until I know what it does. We're both laughing.

Teddy, who was trying to figure out some kind of puzzlebox until now, has his eye caught by some flashing lights down an aisle. But I'm not about to let him go off alone in this particular establishment, so I nab him by the collar and keep him firmly at my side.

"Aw," he whines.

"You stay with me. We'll go look in a minute."

He sighs, but waits patiently.

"Haven't lost those reflexes, I see," Angelina comments mildly. She looks down at Teddy, and back at me. "This is the Lupin's kid, right?" she confirms.

"Yeah."

She puts on a big smile for Teddy. "Well, I have heard all about you, Mister Lupin. George says you are a wonderful boy."

Teddy is shy, and looks up at her sort of sideways, through his hair.

"Well, then," she says, coming around the counter, "if Harry isn't going to take you to see our latest invention, then I suppose I shall have to do it." She holds out a hand to him, giving me a wink. She's kind of overestimating Teddy's friendliness, though. He's all hugs and smiles with Neville and Hannah because he knows them pretty well, but he's awfully shy around strangers.

"Harry has to come," he says nervously, and grabs hold of my leg.

"Of course I'm coming," I say, peeling him away from my leg so I can walk, but keeping hold of his hand until he stops being nervous. "Sorry, Angelina, he'll get used to you pretty fast."

She frowns a bit. "Aren't most kids more interested in toys than in their guardian?"

I let Teddy run a few steps ahead, which he does, but turns back to make sure I'm still there. "He's a little bit different."

"I can see that. You know it's not good for a child to be nervous like that, don't you?"

I shrug, and try not to get angry. Angelina doesn't know what it's like, and I can't blame her for not knowing.

"It's a combination of things. Andromeda keeps him pretty close since he's all she's got left of her daughter. He worries about me, because he knows I have the same job his mum had, and he gets to thinking I'm going to get murdered. And then there are the people who walk right up to him and tell him he's an abomination and should have been drowned at birth like the defective pup he is."

Angelina gapes at me, and I let her see how upset I am by all this. People just have no right. The first time I heard one of these stories, Andromeda had to stop me from demanding a meeting with Kingsley Shacklebolt about terrorizing those idiots. I've gotten more used to it, but no less angry.

"Why would anybody—oh. You mean because Professor Lupin was his father?"

I nod. "The ignorant and unwashed masses appear to believe he's going to go feral and start eating them, any day now. It's getting so he can hardly go anywhere. Today is really special, for us."

Teddy looks back at me, and sees that I'm upset, and leaves his toy aside to come running to me and try to hug me.

"What's wrong, Harry?" he asks with worry.

"It's nothing, Teddy, I'm okay," I answer, putting my hand on his back and pressing him close for a minute. He's such a good kid, to be so concerned about me when there are all these wonderful distractions around. I get the feeling this kind of sympathy is going to get him mercilessly teased throughout his life, but I can't bring myself to think of it as a bad thing. There's nothing wrong with being a compassionate person.

Angelina is watching us with a mixture of surprise and interest, and I feel embarrassed by my outburst, so I sit down on the floor in the aisle to look at the new things Teddy has discovered. Angelina and I exchange a few bits of more neutral gossip about the family, then she goes off to help another customer.

"Is Uncle Ron here?" Teddy pipes up as we begin to make our final selections.

"No, not today. Since Miss Angelina works here with George, it means Ron is able to find another job if he wants to. Remember?"

Teddy nods uncertainly.

"Do you remember what Ron decided to do?"

Teddy gives a more certain nod at that. "He's gonna be an Auror, like you and my mum! He's gonna catch bad guys!"

I smile and ruffle his hair. "That's right."

My smile falls as a new thought comes to me. Ron is two years behind me in the programme. I don't know if the Ministry can contain their enthusiasm enough to keep from promoting me in the next two years. I would find it very, very awkward if I was Ron's boss when he becomes a full Auror. Ah, well, nothing I can do but try to refuse if it comes up, because I know I won't be ready for it. But Ill deal with that problem when I get to it. Right now, I have to worry about Teddy, who is going to force me to buy one of everything if I don't keep an eye on him.

I buy Teddy the puzzlebox, and one of the famous Weasley Invisibility Hats, then I take Teddy to Flourish and Blotts. He is bouncing with joy over his gifts (and has even remembered to say thank you for them—bless Andromeda for training him to be polite), but confused about going to the bookstore.

"Do you need Auror books, Harry?"

"No, we're going to buy _you_ a book," I tell him.

"Me?"

"Why, of course! I want to pick out a very special book so that you can read to me again."

I have to hold on to the Bug to keep him from shooting off the walls, at that. He is both thrilled and embarrassed that I'm making such a fuss out of it. Well, I have to, because I didn't even know he was learning, and I have to assuage my guilt for not being there to encourage him. (Am I getting good at self-analysis or what?) The children's section at Flourish and Blotts is rather small, but we find one that looks promising. It's called _My Magical Friends_, written by Rolf Scamander, and it is an introduction for kids to magical creatures. The author's name seems familiar to me, but I can't think why, and I'm not about to torture myself trying to figure it out.

The question is answered for me at the counter by the witch who checks us out.

"Oh, _this_ is the book!"

"Excuse me, ma'am, what book?"

She gives me a scandalised look. "Surely you know of Newt Scamander, who wrote _Fantastic Beasts and Where to Find Them_?"

"Oh . . . yes."

"This Rolf Scamander, here, that's his grandson. First time published, and it's a bit of a sensation. Going to follow right in Newt's footsteps, they say. Well, if it's any good."

"It looks good," I say cautiously. Honestly, I don't really care, but it would probably be rude to say so. She hands me the book. "Thank you. Have a nice day." I look down at Teddy and raise my eyebrows.

"Thank you," he says shyly, and nearly runs for the door when I nod in approval. I think the witch is going to have an aneurysm, she's so undone by the cuteness, but she recovers enough to wave to us as we exit.

We finish up the afternoon with ice cream, which means I have to wet down six napkins just to get Teddy's face clean afterward. Even with all those nice manners, he's still five and he's still a very messy eater. I have been reminding myself of that over the last few days, maintaining my patience with him. He's just a little boy.

By the time I get him back home, he's pretty well worn out. We have a very light supper, and then go into the study so he can read me a bit out of his new book. He does so, proudly, despite having to skip over and sound out good portions of the text. I am grudgingly impressed by Scamander's presentation of the material into a kid-friendly format. Teddy gets to put his book away on the shelf I cleared for him, and he is so happy that he runs over to give me a hug after he carefully places the book. He's yawning like crazy, so I carry him upstairs and make his bath as quick as possible. Tomorrow is going to be a long day.


	3. Chapter 3

Chapter Three

Social Niceties

I arrive at the Burrow still a bit dazed from my mishap at work. My regular partner, at least for now, is a man named Lucas Harding. He's been an Auror for ten years longer than I have and was utterly unfazed by my little accident. He was right in the thick of things with Voldemort, and while I suspect we will neither of us ever run into anything that truly surprises us, I still admire his calm. I can only hope I will be that serene one day, when my junior partner severs his own arm whilst trying to get poisonous gunk off it.

I am getting the feeling that criminals who are good at Potions are going to be my least favourite part of my job. Not that I didn't already know that. (No, doctor, I'm not embittered toward the entire field of study—why do you ask?)

I step through the Floo, being careful of my right arm. Lucas reattached it in a jiffy, and we had it checked out by St. Mungo's, but it still doesn't feel exactly right, which is why it's in a sling. I am not pleased. It's my wand arm. The Healer said it will be shaky and weak for a day or two and there is some nasty-coloured bruising at the site of reattachment, just above my elbow. The skin, which looked like raw meat when I got to the hospital, just looks badly sunburnt now. Which likely means I'm going to be stuck in the office doing paperwork and the usual shit they assign to trainees. I am not feeling especially delighted by this, since I was looking forward to not being treated like a newbie anymore. (Point in favour of Aurors: they are not impressed by much and will treat you like the trainee dirt under their shoes that you are. Even if you're Harry Potter.) Poor Ron is dealing with it right now, but I'm not trying to protect him from it and he's not asking me to. He knows it's a rite of passage.

I find Teddy in the living room with Arthur, proudly reading to him from his new book on magical creatures. I didn't know Arthur was going to be home, but I don't say hello just yet. I watch quietly from the doorway while Teddy, slowly and clearly, reads what he can. Arthur, after seven children of his own, is not just patient but encouraging, and I am glad Teddy is comfortable with him. He's just the sort of male influence Teddy could use in his life. I love the Bug and all, but I'm twenty-two. I hardly know everything yet, or at least most things. There are about a million of life's questions that Arthur could answer much better than me.

I hope Remus and Tonks would agree.

Arthur looks up and winks at me before returning his attention to Teddy with appropriate gravity. Teddy concludes the section on bowtruckles and looks up with a grin. Which is when he sees me.

"Harry!" he says, and clambers down off the sofa (with rather less than his usual bounce—he must have been playing hard today) to greet me. I find myself entirely grateful that he's a little worn out, since he doesn't barrel into me and cause my arm further injury. I hug him with my good arm, trying not to let on how awkward it feels, but he frowns immediately. "You got hurt."

"Yes, I did," I agree. "But only because I was being very stupid and not listening to my partner." There are tears in Teddy's eyes, and I am quick to reassure him. "It's not very bad, I promise." I slip off the sling and roll up my sleeve, manfully not wincing or groaning. "See? Just a little bruise."

Teddy gives it a very soft poke with his index finger. "That's not either a little bruise. It's a _big_ bruise. Did you fall down?"

"Well . . ." I hedge.

"No lying, Harry, that's the rules."

I am becoming less proud of that rule by the second.

"My arm fell down," I answer finally. I just can't bring myself to tell a five-year-old this story. Arthur appears to understand, because he looks alarmed, but Teddy just looks suspicious.

"People's arms can't fall down by themselves. You're lying."

He backs away from me.

"Aw, Teddy, wait a second."

He really is crying, now, and he runs out of the room, brushing his hands over his cheeks.

"Teddy!" I turn to Arthur, bewildered. "I didn't want to tell him, it would just freak him out."

"What exactly did happen?" Arthur asks as I am returning my arm to the sling.

"There was this criminal we were sent to arrest for illegal potions-making. There was a fight, and I got this poison all over my arm that would have eaten right through me. I panicked and I, er, I cut my arm off."

"Harry," he says in surprise.

"I'm fine," I say quickly. "Lucas, my partner, he put it right back on and took me straight to St. Mungo's to have me looked at. They said I'll be right as rain in a couple of days. The Healer actually chewed Lucas out, a bit," I say with a grin, remembering his trapped expression as the tiny woman waved her finger in his face, "for putting it back on himself instead of bringing me in right away. She said she could have done it without all the bruising. Anyway, I'll be okay."

Arthur pats my shoulder. "I'm glad you're all right. You'd better find Teddy and explain."

"What should I say?"

"As much of the truth as you can manage. You were a kid yourself, Harry, not so long ago. You never wanted to be 'protected' like that. You wanted adults to trust you."

"Right," I say decisively. Wasn't I just thinking a couple of days ago how much I wished I'd been told the truth about myself earlier than I was? I should do Teddy the courtesy of giving him the consideration I wish I'd been given. "Thanks, Mr. Weasley," I remember to say, before heading out to track Teddy down.

"Don't tell Molly it was my advice," he calls after me, and I can't help but grin a bit.

I find Bug outside, in the garden, being cuddled by Molly. She is drying his eyes and asking him why he's crying. When he sees me coming, he tries to make a run for it again, but Molly holds onto him so he can't escape.

"Now, listen to me, young man," she says severely to him. "You're never too young to learn this: you can't run away from your troubles. You can face them with bravery, or you can let them hit you from behind, but they'll always catch up. Which way do you want to do it?"

Teddy angrily scrubs at his face and turns to me. His mouth is pouting, but his eyes are sad. I kneel down, not caring right now about the muddy ground. There were already bloodstains on my trousers, anyway.

"Hey, Bug."

He just pouts.

"I'm sorry about what happened inside. I know the rule, and I should have followed it. I didn't want to tell you what happened because I thought it would scare you, and I didn't want you to be scared. I didn't mean to hurt your feelings. Do you forgive me?"

He gives his cheeks one last swipe, but nods. I hold out my left arm.

"Com'ere."

He shuffles forward into my rather awkward embrace.

"Thank you," I mutter, a little bit undone by the whole thing. Then I prop him against one of my knees and tell him, very briefly, about my accident at work. He is wide-eyed, but he doesn't act particularly frightened. I think I've underestimated the Bug. Then he carefully rolls up my sleeve to look at the bruise again. With a solemn look, he kisses it.

"If I had a wand, I could fix it like you fixed my finger," he says sadly.

And I thought I was undone _before_. I just squeeze him for a minute till I can find my voice.

"That's really nice of you to say, Teddy. I wish it was true. But I did go to see a Healer at the hospital, and they already did everything they could with a wand. They said the only thing left to do is to wait for it to get better on its own. It should only be a few days. I bet my arm will be all healed by the time your grandma gets back from her holiday." Merlin, but I hope so. I can't even begin to imagine that conversation.

Teddy looks doubtful, but he just kisses my arm again.

"Are we still going to see the Quidditch game for Auntie Ginny?"

"Oh, yes," I assure him. "In fact, we need to hurry home to change clothes so we can go. I don't want to be late."

He pulls away and urges me to my feet. He actually isn't the biggest Quidditch fan on record, but he's excited about getting to travel somewhere, and about seeing Ginny. Honestly, I think he's excited because I am. It's kind of touching.

"Harry, dear, you take care of that arm," Molly says sternly. "Don't overdo. If you need help, you can call us anytime."

"Thanks," I smile.

"Are you two going to stay for dinner?"

"Afraid not. We have to run. But don't worry," I add. "I'll make sure we both get something to eat when we get there. I wasn't going to forget."

"See that you don't," she says severely.

"Thanks for watching him today!" I call out as we enter the house.

"Anytime, dear!" she calls back.

Then we hurry back to my place so I can take off my stained clothing and put on something nice— which is difficult, just like I knew it was going to be. Then I turn to my nightstand.

After just staring at it for a minute, my pulse pounding so hard it's making my ears hurt, I pick up the box with the ring, and slip it into my pocket. Teddy has already changed clothes when I peek into his room, and he's just laying on his bed, looking at the ceiling. I wonder what this is all about, if he's pouting over something, but we can talk about it later. I just take hold of him and lead him to the fireplace. He's still so small that we can fit through together, and I'm in no way ready to take the chance on him going alone.

I don't know when I'm going to have the chance to propose. Maybe I'll send Teddy to the bathroom or something.

* * *

The stadium is barely half-filled. This is not an important game, by any means. Neither the Harpies nor the Arrows have any new players this year, so no one has come out to scout for England's national team. But I love watching Ginny play. She's so fast and so determined. She always gets through, this little powerhouse that people have learned by now should not be underestimated.

This is the second game Teddy has come to see—the first time was when the Harpies were in the league playoffs against the Kestrels and he and Andromeda were here with the whole Weasley family. It was crowded and noisy and he spent the entire night with his head buried under his grandmother's arm. I expect this one will be a little easier on him.

We find our seats, right at the center of the pitch (I always get good seats, being Harry Potter and in a relationship with their talented outside Chaser) and I settle Teddy beside me. It's becoming a bit chilly, but we've remembered our jackets and I don't anticipate rain or anything, so I think we should be comfortable. There are several food vendors, so I ask Teddy what we wants to eat. He says nothing.

"Aren't you hungry?"

"No, thank you," he says politely.

"Did your Aunt Molly feed you too much today?"

He nods and smiles.

"Figures," I chuckle. I wouldn't say no to something to eat, but I want to wait so that I can take Ginny out later. I just didn't want the Bug to go hungry during the game. Teddy sits quietly beside me, and I am slightly concerned. He's pretty comfortable with me already, and over the past few days he's started to chatter at me whenever he has something to say. Maybe he's just all talked out after his day with Molly.

People are sitting down all around us, and I am obliged several times to greet someone whom I do not actually know. I used to let it get to me, but Kingsley Shacklebolt has talked to me a few times about it, and I no longer see the harm in being just a tad politick. I should never underestimate my popularity's power to make an investigation easier. And if shaking a few hands makes things easier for my fellow Aurors, I suppose I can shake a few hands. Teddy is entirely silent during this, which doesn't surprise me. He never has liked strangers much. And the people who are greeting me are just as content not to speak to him, either. Many of them already know who he is, and know who I am, and—well, there's a story out there. About me. I know, go figure. (What? I wouldn't dream of letting fame get to me!)

Let's just say that when you know who Teddy's parents were, and you're talking to me, and you act apologetic about Remus' life when I know for a fact that you were one of the people fomenting that prejudice . . . you might end up with the word "hypocrite" written in boils on your forehead. I'm just saying. (Hermione is a font of useful spells, have I ever mentioned that?) I'd like to say that I'm older now and too mature to let my temper get the better of me anymore. I'd like to say that. But it happened three months ago. That was when Kingsley thought he and I should talk.

Teddy has been sitting beside me, quietly sinking into misery, and I'm trying desperately to think of a way to switch to a new seat without offending anyone. Then, suddenly, Bug's face lights up and he lifts his head and waves at something over my shoulder. I turn and feel my own face brightening.

"Luna!" I call out to my friend, who is ten rows up and unlikely to be able to hear me. "_Luna_!"

She waves cheerily, and continues on toward her seat. Rolling my eyes, I use my hands to beckon her to come down here. She looks surprised, but begins to carefully navigate her way through the crowd of people.

"Mister Harry Potter," a man says near me, drawing my attention. "Well met."

"Evening, Mr. Marlowe." I nod at the man with gray-streaked brown hair and a thick build, who works in Hermione's area in the DMLE and is, marginally, her superior. I have to play nice with this particular wizard, I suppose. Despite knowing that Hermione hates him, and the way he always gives me that oily smile like he wants to be friends but doesn't actually grasp the concept. "I didn't know you fancied Quidditch, sir."

He is clucking his tongue in disagreement, a habit that just sets my nerves even more on edge. "I've a business meeting in Cardiff tomorrow morning, but I'm obliged to attend the game tonight. My meeting is with a gentleman whose young cousin is Seeker for the Arrows. Shall we be cheering on opposing sides, then?"

"I guess so," I say, trying to smile but feeling that it's a bit thin. He's such a pompous arse. Thank Merlin he's not an Auror.

"Still, it's possible to share an amicable evening—" he begins, looking like he means to sit down next to me, and I will be damned if I have to share the few hours before I propose to my girlfriend with Jarvis bloody Marlowe.

"Awfully sorry, sir, but I think the young lady is sitting there," I interrupt.

"Young lady?" he repeats, looking startled.

_Yes, you bloody idiot, the one who's standing directly behind you_.

"Good evening, Miss Lovegood," I say in a tone that is carefully casual. Marlowe can stuff it if he thinks he's going to spend his evening dredging up the personal details of Harry Potter's life. That includes Harry Potter's close friends, thank you very much. "I've held your seat, just like you asked."

Luna was not cut out for subterfuge, and has her mouth open to say something damaging (like, "this isn't my seat," or "why are you calling me Miss Lovegood, Harry?") so I meet her eyes and give my head a very small shake. She smiles serenely and sits down next to me, and turns her strange eyes on Mr. Marlowe.

"Hello," she says in a distracted voice. "How nice, to have such a good seat for the game. I do love Quidditch. Don't you, sir?"

"Er, I . . . suppose. I'm here to support the Arrows, you know, I hear they've got a top-notch Seeker."

"But I heard that their Seeker is very mediocre," she says, smiling innocently. "You're Mr. Marlowe, from Hermione Granger's office, aren't you? I'm Luna Lovegood."

"Pleasure," he stammers, and attempts to confirm that she is indeed to the current editor of _The Quibbler_, but botches it and hurries off, muttering something about "early morning meetings."

"Good riddance," I mutter. "Stupid lickspittle."

Luna turns to me, the dreamy smile now holding an air of satisfaction. "Sometimes it's very useful that I can make people uncomfortable," she says. "I didn't think you or Teddy liked him very much, so I tried to make him go away."

Teddy is grinning at her, and I think I am, too.

"Thanks, Luna."

"Harry, what happened to your arm?"

"Oh, just an accident at work," I shrug, not ready to go into the whole thing again. "I'll be fine in a day or two."

"Well, that's good. And now that I've rescued you, I suppose I should return to my seat," she says, standing up, and my grin quickly turns to a frown.

"What? No, Luna, stay here with us."

"I didn't get a box seat."

"It's okay, there's always a few empty seats in this area. Don't worry, nobody will argue. You're with me."

"Am I?" she blinks.

"You are now," I say firmly.

"All right," she says serenely, and then Teddy is getting up from my other side so he can squeeze in between us.

"I'm glad you're going to watch the game with us, Miss Luna," he says happily. "I missed you."

It's true that we haven't seen Luna in a while. Her father is getting old, and she's taken over nearly all the responsibilities of publishing _The Quibbler_. She's been even busier than I have.

"I missed you, too," she says, smiling at Teddy.

"You were lying to that man about how much you like Quidditch, though," he says, sounding very sure of himself.

Luna laughs, a silvery, misty sound. "I do like it, sometimes."

"But what are you doing in Holyhead, Luna?" I interject. "Long way from Ottery St. Catchpole." The Lovegoods hadn't wanted to rebuild their house after the war, but they were far too used to the town to leave. They simply found a slightly more traditional-looking house in the area, and Luna lives there with her father still.

"I am doing an interview for work tonight."

"Interview?"

"I am doing a piece on Mr. Rolf Scamander. He recently published a children's book, you know, and I thought it would be nice to have an interview with him in our next issue. I'm sure he has a fascinating outlook on the endangerment of Wrackspurts here in Wales."

"Does he live here?"

"He lives in Bangor."

"But you're meeting in Holyhead?"

"He knows that I'm a friend of Ginny's, and he thought I might be here to see her match, so he suggested meeting here. I thought that would be okay. Then I thought that if I was already here, I should come see Ginny, after all."

"I'm glad we ran into you, then. It would have been awful if we were both here and missed each other," I say, and I'm surprised to realize how much I mean it. She has been my friend through some of the worst times in my life, and it's nice to be able to share the box seat with her instead of people like Marlowe who don't care anything about me beyond my name.

"Is Mr. Scamander not going to be here for the game, then?" I inquire.

"No, he said he would meet me at the Dwynwen and Potion, the little restaurant down the road, after."

"That's where I was hoping to take Ginny tonight," I answer, not particularly surprised that we have the same destination, since it's the only magical pub in the area. And then, an idea springs to mind. "Maybe we could all share a table," I suggest. It might be fun, after all. And if, perchance, I needed to speak to pull Ginny away from the table to speak to her, for just a minute, this Scamander bloke and Luna wouldn't be too upset if Teddy stayed with them . . .

(Ulterior motives? Me? Never!)

So we watch the game in a state of pleasant companionship. Teddy and Luna, neither of them huge Quidditch fans, chat a bit about Mr. Scamander's book, with Luna taking Teddy's opinion very seriously—probably the reason Bug loves her so much. Whereas I am watching Ginny fly, still amazed and thrilled at how natural she looks up there, darting around the other players, taking risks with no fear of getting hurt. She scores four of the seven goals the Harpies get, and the Arrows get only three goals in before the Harpies Seeker, Gladys Cadwallader, recovers the Snitch. It's a pretty crushing defeat, and I can't help but smirk when I think of Jarvis Marlowe and his business meeting with the uncle of the Arrow's Seeker.

Luna volunteers to escort Teddy to the pub while I go wait for Ginny outside the locker room. I glance at Bug, but he seems amenable to the idea of being without me for a minute. Excepting the Weasleys, Teddy trusts precisely three of my friends, and Luna is one of them. So I promise to be along soon, and give Luna a quick, grateful hug. I know her perceptiveness by now, and I know she is trying to give me the opportunity to say hello to Ginny without company.

Ginny emerges from the locker rooms after _way_ longer than necessary, exiting alongside Gwenog Jones, both of them laughing about something. I have been leaning against the wall, but I straighten up now and give her a little wave. Ginny knew I was going to be here tonight, so she had her eye out for me, anyway.

"What did I tell you?" she says to Gwenog with a smile. "Absolutely reliable."

I have the sneaking suspicion she means me. And I'm not sure how I feel about being characterised as "absolutely reliable" without at least having "totally sexy" added in. Still, I nod at Miss Jones with a smile. She and I like each other, mostly because neither of us have brought up the idea of autographs in the few times we've had these passing meetings. Famous people know well enough not to bother each other.

"I'm afraid I have to steal your lovely star Chaser away," I say, taking a playful hold on Ginny's elbow with my good hand. "I am under strict orders from her mother to feed her dinner."

Ginny rolls her eyes, but allows me to lead her away. "Cheers, Noggie," she calls back, and I try not to choke. _Noggie_?

Ginny murmurs, "I've reached the stage of calling her something other than Miss Jones. If you laugh and ruin it for me, I'm going to tell the whole world that you talk in your sleep."

"I do not!"

"Do so," she says with dignity, and tugs her arm out of my grip, but only so she can insinuate herself into a closer embrace against my side. Makes walking a bit dicey, but I'm not complaining. "Dwynwen and Potion, yeah?"

"Yup."

"I thought Teddy was with you."

"We met up with Luna. She's having dinner there with somebody tonight, and she offered to take Teddy with her so I could give you a proper snogging before we had to be polite for company."

Ginny gives me a horrified look. "Are you telling me that Luna is on a date, and you made her take a five-year-old with her?"

"Ah, no. Interview for the magazine. They've never met, I don't think."

"At least you're not a total idiot," she sighs, and leans in so we can have that kiss. I think we're both a bit distracted tonight, but not every kiss can make stars explode in my head, I suppose. Still, time for that later. When I stop sweating buckets about the idea, and actually pop the question.

"You didn't even ask about the sling," I say after a moment.

"I thought it must have happened at work."

"It did. You aren't even curious?"

She gives me an odd look. "You usually hate talking about that kind of stuff. Don't you?"

"Yeah," I admit, and I'm not sure why I feel upset. But she should have asked me, right? I mean, she's my _girlfriend_. She's supposed to be concerned about it, and now she's being all damned logical about it.

"I was assuming you didn't want me to go all female and fuss over you, but I can if you like," she says with raised eyebrows, screwing up her face and preparing to let loose a wail.

"That's okay," I say quickly, and feel my mood lifting at her good humour.

"Are you okay?" she asks more seriously.

"Yeah, I'm fine. Went to St. Mungo's and had it checked out. Nothing serious."

I've been having these passing thoughts about my previous life as a Muggle ever since Teddy and I cooked dinner earlier in the week, and now it makes me chuckle, just a little. If a Muggle spilled acid on their arm, panicked, and chopped the thing off, it would be pretty damned serious.

"Why are you laughing?"

"Because I love being a wizard," I answer, and pull her in to my side to brush my lips over her cheek. No reason. Just because. She flashes me that dazzling smile, and then we arrive at the pub, and make our way over to our table.

Luna and Ginny greet each other with real pleasure—they don't see each other too often, these days—and immediately fall into some discussion of things I don't follow. Because I am not a girl. I have no opinion on the merits of Luna cutting her hair versus keeping it long. It never would have occurred to me that she should do anything with it, really. Except . . . I think the idea of cutting it bothers me, now I think about it. She's always been the same. Changing something about Luna doesn't seem right. (Clinging to the past, doctor? Whatever would give you that idea?) But the _conversation_ about it is the most boring thing I've been subjected to in a long, long time.

Teddy seems to agree with me, because he moves over closer to me. He's not talking, and now I think there's more to it than being uncomfortable out in public. He looks tired. Andromeda is pretty strict about his table manners, but I think he'd pillow his head in his arms and go to sleep on the table if he had the chance. I slip an arm around him and give him an encouraging squeeze, just when the esteemed Mr. Scamander walks in.

I know it's him because Luna says, "There's Mr. Scamander."

He's a tallish, blond bloke, not in particularly good shape, but not particularly bad, either. Wide shoulders. Eyes scanning the room carefully—a sharp guy, I think. I'm learning how to make snap judgements about people in the course of my job (not that I didn't already, I guess) and my immediate impression is that of a very observant man who is slow to act on what he sees. A calm person, I amend when the sight of the vampire standing at the bar makes him do nothing more than raise an eyebrow and check he's got his wand in his pocket.

Luna stands up, meeting his gaze, and he comes across the room with those sharp eyes checking out not only her, but me and Ginny and Teddy as well.

"It's a pleasure to meet you at least, Miss Lovegood," he says in a voice that is deep but quiet.

"The pleasure is mine, Mr. Scamander," she murmurs. She is not one for social niceties, and seems to be at a bit of a loss about how to proceed with explaining the company.

I've never been one to leave a friend hanging. Nor to hesitate. I've been trying to learn a bit of this stuff from Kingsley, and it's time to see how well it pays off. (No, it's _not_ going to be an unmitigated disaster, thanks very much.)

I stand up. "I guess I should apologise, Mr. Scamander, for the intrusion. Luna is a dear friend of ours, and we couldn't pass up the opportunity to see her. I'm Harry Potter."

"Yes, I suppose you are," he says, casting a glance at my forehead, which is plainly visible since I started cutting my hair regularly. (I am not _daring_ people to stare at me, I just like to be well-groomed!)

"Ginny Weasley," I say, as my girlfriend stands up to shake his hand, and he takes in her stylish robes acting counterpoint to her messy, windswept hair. "And this is Teddy."

Teddy solemnly shakes his hand. "Nice to meet you, sir," he says politely. "I like your book."

"Do you?" Scamander says with a smile of real pleasure. "I'm glad to hear that." He takes the empty seat at the table, and smiles at Luna. "Not only a chance to speak to the press, but such interesting companions for dinner. I'm impressed, Miss Lovegood."

I can't say I like the way he looks at her. Like he really is impressed, instead of just making a joking comment. Like he wasn't expecting much out of her. I should be used to it, I've been friends with Luna for a long time and she gets those looks constantly. But she's a brilliant witch, and a good writer and editor, and it's not hard to see if you're looking.

Luna just smiles in that distant way she has, and asks him if he would mind allowing her to use a few of Teddy's comments when the article goes to publication.

"If that's all right with you, Teddy," she adds.

Teddy smiles a tired smile at her. "Okay, Miss Luna," he says.

"Harry, are you Teddy's legal guardian?" she asks suddenly.

I am, sort of. Technically, Andromeda has custody of him, but I could take him away from her if it ever came down to that. Not that I'd want to, for Merlin's sake, but I'm not entirely sure why Luna is asking in any case, so I'm not sure whether to just say yes or delve into the more lengthy explanation. (I'd rather not, with Mr. Calm Wisdom sitting there with an interested expression.)

"I think she'd need your permission to print Teddy's quote," Mr. Calm Wisdom throws in, and Luna nods, beaming at him.

"Yes, exactly."

"Oh. Well, um, when are you . . .?"

"Day after tomorrow," she says.

Andromeda doesn't get back until the following day. Damn. I am legally qualified to make these decisions without her, should it be necessary, but she's not a woman I want to cross. But Teddy is giving me a look of great eagerness, and I cave.

"Yeah, sure," I say casually. But, feeling a sense of panic at how I might explain this to Andromeda, I add, "But leave off his last name, okay?"

Luna is surprised, but agrees.

"I had thought he was yours," Scamander says, his eyes on me but his eyebrow quirked, somehow, in Teddy's direction. Right. Where would _I_ have been hiding him all this time? I think someone might have noticed if I'd had a son.

"He's my godson," I say briefly, and then Ginny, bless her forever, changes the subject to what we might all like for dinner. Bug is between us, so I can't squeeze her hand under the table, but I do manage to send a look her way that has her smiling and even going a bit red.

Luna and Rolf, who decide to be on a first-name basis when the food begins to arrive, say they will wait to do the interview until later, after we've eaten. I wonder how I'll manage to get Ginny away from everyone for a moment—Rolf, it turns out, is a lot better with imaginary kids than with real ones. He and Bug are finding it hard to talk to each other, and I'm not so sure I want to leave Teddy with him.

In fact, I'm not so sure I want to leave the kid at all. He's looking very peaky, shoving his food around his plate with a fork, pale, quiet. I'm worried about him. I lean down to whisper in his ear.

"Bug, what's wrong?"

"I don't feel good," he says, and I feel a distinct dropping sensation in my belly. I slide a hand to his forehead, wondering if I will even be able to tell whether it's warmer than normal. But I shouldn't be worried about that, because it's bloody obvious. He feels hot. I'm such a dope. He's got a fever, which I knew was a possibility, and I didn't notice until he was already feeling like crap.

"I'll try to get us out of here soon, okay?" I whisper. "And then we can go home and I'll get you to bed."

He doesn't look happy, but he nods, and I straighten up again. Ginny's eyebrows are raised at me, but I just shrug. Can I still try to propose to her? Or would it be cruel, when Teddy is feeling so low? Maybe I can wait on this just a little longer . . . It's not like Ginny is going anywhere, but I just want to have this part of it over with. (Insecurity? What would give you that idea?)

The meal is progressing pleasantly enough, so I decide it's now or never. "I don't know if I'm being unspeakably rude—I'm not so good at this whole manners thing, better at running down criminals—but would you mind if I excused myself and Ginny for—"

That's as far as I get. Because suddenly, Teddy goes limp in his seat, dropping a glass of pumpkin juice on the table and toppling sideways right into my lap.

"Teddy?" I whisper, which is the only way to keep myself from screaming. I get a hold of him, lift him so I can see his face, and see that he's white as a sheet and his teeth are clenched together. "Bug?"

"Don't feel good," he mutters.

I look up at the others, feeling stricken, and they're all looking back at me like I should know what I'm doing. All I can see, for a moment, is the stain of pumpkin juice creeping across the tablecloth, and a weird buzzing noise in my ears. Then—

"Right," I say decisively, and slide my arm out of its sling, picking up Teddy and laying him against my shoulder. I jerk to my feet, my arms holding him tight against me. "I need to get him back to London straightaway, I'm sorry, I've got to go right now—"

My eyes light on Ginny, who stands up and comes toward me and places her hand on Teddy's back.

"Don't worry about us, Harry. Just get him back."

"Thank you," I blurt out, relieved that she understands. Luna and Rolf are standing up as well, and Luna comes forward to place a careful kiss on Bug's fever-heated cheek.

"I am sure you will feel better soon," she says with great assurance. "Harry will take care of you."

Merlin, I can only hope so. I'll have to call his Healer. Will the witch be willing to come, at eight o'clock at night? And just for a fever? Maybe I'll have to do this on my own, much as the idea scares me.

The barman lets me back into the manager's office so I can use the Floo, and it's only moments before I'm back at Grimmauld Place. Teddy lifts up his head to look around, then lays his head down on my shoulder again with a sigh.

"Can I go to bed now?"

"Yes," I say, starting up the stairs immediately. "Do you need a glass of water?"

"No," he grunts, and placidly lets me help him put on pyjamas and slide him into his covers. "Thank you," he says, polite to the end.

"I'll stay with you," I say helplessly. Or maybe I'll call Molly. Molly would know what to do, right?

"I'm okay," Teddy says quietly. "I'm going to sleep now."

"You don't want me to stay?"

"I'm okay," he repeats.

"If you're sure," I say, feeling too lost to argue with him. I've always wanted him to be allowed to have privacy, and I'm not sure if this is the time to break that boundary, or not. Maybe he'll be fine. Tomorrow morning would be soon enough to get outside help, if he doesn't improve, wouldn't it? "I'll just be in my room down the hall."

He nods a little, and I hesitate only briefly before leaving. I turn around to flick off the light switch, just in time to see Teddy reaching for the thick gloves he keeps on the nightstand. This seems to bear out my assumption that they are his version of a security blanket. With my arm now sending bolts of pain all the way to my shoulder, I decide to take a potion to knock the edge off it. I choke on the taste, brush my teeth, and slide into bed. I'm worrying about Bug all the way down into sleep.


	4. Chapter 4

Chapter Four

Tell Me Where It Hurts

I don't know why I'm awake, suddenly, in the middle of the night. I remember immediately that I fell asleep worried, and I am sure that I heard a noise. Then I recall that Teddy got sick in Wales and we came home early. I don't even bother dressing before I am speeding down the hall to check on him, and the bottoms of my loose cotton pants are flapping against my ankles because I'm nearly running, while the coolness of the air in the house is a shock against my bare chest. I don't have the sling on, but the pain in my arm doesn't even register.

I crack the door slowly to peek inside, not wanting to wake him if he's asleep, but then I hear a stifled sob, and I fling the door open to hurry into the room. If he's really sick and I have to take him to the hospital, I'm going to kill myself—if only so his grandmother doesn't go to jail for brutal murder.

"Bug?" I'm whispering as I sit down on the edge of the bed. "_Lumos_." When I finally get a look at him, I'm in shock.

His face is wet with tears, and his gloved hands are gripping his elbows, holding his arms close to his chest. Unsure of what to do, I put my hand on his forehead and pull it back with a hissing noise.

"Shit. Bug, you're burning up. I've got to call someone."

"No," he whimpers. "You can't."

"I have to, little guy, you're really sick. Will your Healer know what to do?"

Teddy sobs again. "I don't go to the Healer anymore. She can't help."

"Teddy, I don't . . . is this normal?"

"You're not supposed to know," he says, his voice gone trembling from his tears. "You should go away."

"What do you mean?" There is a sinking feeling, like I'm flying and my broom just failed.

"Grandma says not to tell you. She says I have to be tough until we figure it out."

"Grandma is full of shit," is the only answer I can think of. "Teddy, why are you crying? Does it hurt?"

He bites his lip. He doesn't want to tell me. The idea that he might not trust me is like a stab in the heart.

"Teddy, it's me. You know that I want to help you and take care of you. But I can't if you won't tell me what's wrong. Where does it hurt?"

Suddenly he screws up his face and flings himself over my lap. "It _itches_!" he wails.

"What?" I stammer, startled, putting a hand on his shaking back. "Where?"

"Everywhere," he cries. "I have to put these on so I don't scratch!"

Because I'm looking for it now, I see what the dimness of the light has hidden thus far. His skin looks red and irritated, and, even stranger, what I thought was shadows shifting around his head is actually his hair going through subtle changes in colour. This is weird, because he had control over basic Metamorphagy before he was three.

I can't ask him, though, because he's crying in earnest now, his face buried in my lap. My bruised arm is throbbing, but I tell the pain to cram it, and carefully lift Bug up to hold him against my chest and run my hand over his back.

"Grandma— will— be— mad— at— me," he hiccups. He's smearing snot on me, and it's really disgusting, but I am determined to do my job, here. If I can ignore my protesting arm, I can ignore some mucous. Even if I am more practiced at dealing with my own pain than with snot—and if that doesn't tell you something about me, I don't know what does.

"You let me worry about Grandma," I say firmly. Even though my knees go a little weak at the idea of confrontation with the woman (she _does not_ remind me of her sister Bellatrix, not in the least, no sir), I am more angry than I can express. This appears to be a regular occurrence, and Andromeda has been hiding it from me. How dare she hide anything about Teddy, especially his health, from me?

But Teddy doesn't need that right now, and no matter how I'm feeling, it's what Teddy needs that I have got to focus on.

"I'll talk to her, so don't worry about that, okay? Shh, it's okay, I've got you now. I know you don't feel good. I'm sorry. I guess you can cry if you need to. Can you try to sleep? Shh, that's it. There you go. Just try to get some sleep."

He's exhausted from his torment and from his tears, but sleep doesn't seem to be coming. I'm exhausted myself, but no way in hell am I leaving him now. Still talking nonsense about how it's okay, even though it's clearly not, I lay down beside him and let him cuddle up to me. At one point, he suddenly rips a glove off and starts scratching at his arms, but I grab hold of both of his wrists and hold tight. He pushes his face against me and lets me restrain him, and somehow, he manages to fall asleep that way, salty tears drying all over his face and my shoulder. I would never in a thousand years cry for anything, even this (No, doctor, I'm not trying to repress my emotions because nobody ever cared about them). Well, maybe in a thousand years. Or maybe just while looking at that tired, scared face pressed against me—and then, it's only a couple of tears anyway.

* * *

I'm not sure at what point during the night I finally fell asleep, but I wake abruptly at dawn. I guess I let go of Teddy's wrists at some point, and now he's curled up like a shrimp at the very edge of the bed, sleeping soundly. I cautiously reach out to put my hand to his forehead, and find it to be perfectly average. Slightly sticky from dried sweat, but not hot anymore.

I decide to pull him back a little, so he doesn't fall off the bed. Then I walk over to the window to crack it open and let some fresh air into the room. I blink wearily at the pink horizon, and see the full orb of the moon still lingering above in the gray sky. I frown at the moon. Why does it bother me?

Oh, _shit_. It's _full_. It's the full sodding moon. I whirl back around and stare at Teddy. His body rises and falls with his deep, even breathing. He looks perfectly sound, now. Is that what woke me? The sudden release in the tension of his body?

"No wonder Grandma wanted to keep it a secret," I mutter, but I'm trying desperately to think. The kid didn't transform, at least not that I saw. Was that what was causing his skin to itch so much? Was it trying to grow _fur_?

I take this moment to admit that I have absolutely no idea what to do. With that admission, I suddenly feel better. If I don't know, then I have a plan. The plan is to find out what's going on. Andromeda will be back in two days, and she'd better have some answers for me. If she doesn't, I'll find somebody who does. And I have no doubt that being who I am will get me what I want.

For the first time in a good long while, I'm grimly glad to be Harry Potter.

Only an hour later, an owl shows up at the kitchen window, while I am staring into the pantry like it holds the meaning of life and not the possibility of something to make for breakfast. Kreacher wanted to make breakfast, but I need some time to think, and cooking might help. The owl is distinctly weird-looking, with big ear tufts and a blind eye and a missing claw, but it seems to be rather patient as it scratches at the window pane.

"Hello, and who do you belong to?" I ask it, slightly bemused to be receiving mail at seven o'clock in the morning from an owl that looks like it lost a fight. It's a snowy owl, and it probably used to be beautiful, except the oversized tufts.

The owl twists its head around and stares at me with its good eye. Pretty intelligent bird, then. It raises the foot with the missing digit to allow me access to the letter it carries.

It's addressed to "My friend Harry Potter," and I suddenly have a suspicion about who sent it. I open it up quickly and have my guess confirmed.

_Dear Harry,_

_The sky was quite beautiful this morning, I hope you saw it. I am writing to see if Teddy is all right. I hated to see him sick, and I hope that he is better this morning. You told me that he gets ill regularly, so maybe I shouldn't worry. I think I am worried, though. You were frightened. It's okay to be frightened sometimes, of course, but if it helps to talk about it you may call me._

_The bird carrying this letter is my new owl. Isn't she lovely? The witch at the store where I got her said she needed a good home but no one would take her because she's so unattractive. I don't know what made the witch say that, because she's perfect! She is very intelligent, and so far she seems to be very loyal. She reminds me very much of the owl you had when you were at Hogwarts. May I name my owl Hedwig, in her honour?_

_I've attached a form to your letter. It's for permission to quote Teddy in my article about __My Magical Friends__. Rolf said I should send it so the magazine could be more professional, and I promised him I would because he insisted, even though I didn't think it was necessary. I don't think he believes that you and I have been friends for such a long time. I didn't tell him that I knew he felt jealous. I think Ginny would be proud that I didn't tell him, don't you? She's told me many times that I shouldn't reveal how perceptive I can be._

_Please send the form back to me, if you can, so I can tell Rolf that you did when I send him a copy of the article. And please do tell me if Teddy is feeling better._

_Have a good morning!_

_Love, Luna_

I am grinning by the time I get to the end of the letter. If anything was going to make me feel better about things, it would be Luna. I scribble off a quick note to let her know that Teddy feels better, that I would be honoured if she would name her owl Hedwig, and that Rolf Scamander can jump in a lake if he thinks I'd try to get Luna in trouble. I do send along the form, though, just in case. Andromeda's going to be upset enough about the rest of it, and Luna may well pick a really wacky quote from Teddy. (Okay, it's almost guaranteed. She's great and all, but that doesn't mean she's _normal_.)

Teddy comes downstairs just as I am letting Hedwig, Mark II, out.

"Good morning," I say to him.

He glances up at me, and shuffles over to the table and sits down with a frightened look. I wait for him to say something.

"Don't tell Grandma you saw me," he blurts out.

I give him a very stern look. "I most certainly _will_ talk to your grandma. But I don't want you to worry about that, Bug. It's going to be a grown-up conversation, and you're not in trouble. I promise."

He still looks nervous.

"I won't tell anyone else, okay?"

He relaxes just a little. "Okay."

I glance into the pantry again, and just sigh and reach for a box of cold cereal.

I can't believe I just promised Bug I wouldn't tell anyone. I want to tell Ginny because I tell her everything, and I want to tell Hermione because she is bound to have a rational explanation for the whole thing, just filed away in whatever part of the filing cabinet in her brain is reserved for topics related to lycanthropy. A rational explanation would be great, just now. But it would now require me to go behind Teddy's back and break his heart, and I'm not about to do that.

Ginny arrives when Kreacher is taking away our milky bowls and spoons. I am almost pathetically pleased that she came to check on us, and she soon has Teddy forgetting that he's worried. She's telling him that they won last night because the Snitch was running away from the other Seeker's B.O., and that one of their Beaters is actually a man who's been cursed to look like a witch and that's why she can pack such a wallop with the Beater's Bat . . . Teddy is giggling like mad. I shouldn't be surprised that Ginny knows what five year old boys find humorous, with all her older brothers to learn from.

I pull up a chair and put my arms around Ginny from behind her while she regales Bug with a story of what happened when Fred got dragonpox. The details are a bit . . . Well, it was Fred. But it's making Bug laugh, and that's what counts. I know it's still sort of hard to talk about Fred, and I'm amazed at Ginny's generosity in doing it just to make Teddy feel better.

I drop my chin onto her shoulder and feel extremely content. I was nearly having a stroke this morning, but between Luna and Ginny, I'm back to normal. I am a lucky guy.

Today is the day, I think. Ginny's right here, and I can finish what I wanted to do last night. But when I look for the engagement ring, it isn't there. I feel sick to my stomach, and I realise that I dropped it at some point last night. It is probably laying in a gutter somewhere, and I will have to wait until I know Ginny is busy before I can go back there to look for it.

There is something, in some unidentified place that niggles at me . . . that says it's a sign. That I'm not supposed to propose. (No, doctor, for the last time, I don't hear voices! Anymore, that is. Since Voldemort died. And this isn't a voice anyway. What do you _mean_, paranoid schizophrenia?) I tell the unidentified place to go to hell because I love Ginny like mad, and resolve to ask someone in my department to take a discreet look around Holyhead for me.

* * *

Teddy is quiet over the next couple of days. I contemplate taking the time off work, but I don't think I can handle any more favours given out to me. So I take Bug to visit Granny Weasley, and I suck it up and go to work. I tell him over and over that it's all right for me to know. I even have the remarkable fortitude to restrain myself from reminding him that we don't lie in my house and he's broken that rule. It would have been impossible for him to sort out whether he should obey Andromeda or me on this issue—it's too big for him. I just give him all the reassurance I can.

But he's still quiet. Even when I beg Percy into coming over to spend an hour or two with him. I don't know what I'm going to do. This isn't one of the things I prepared for when I realised this kid was my responsibility. Earaches, temper tantrums, constant noise, all the normal kid stuff, I was ready for that. Instead I got a quiet, polite kid . . . and this. I wasn't ready for this.

But then, who is?

* * *

Andromeda looks tanned and relaxed as I open the door wide to let her into the house. Bug isn't even downstairs to greet her, probably because he thinks we'll be at each other's throats first thing. I think I feel a little guilty that I have to go and ruin Andromeda's holiday for her. Maybe I can wait until tomorrow?

I will forever maintain that she started it. (No, doctor, it's because she really did! I'm not avoiding blame!) Or maybe it's because I'm stupid and forgot to hide the sling for my arm, which was supposed to come off yesterday but which I will have to wear for another few days because I messed it up carrying Bug around. Either way, she asks.

"I got hurt at work," I say in a voice that conveys a complete lack of concern. "Totally minor, nothing to worry about."

She frowns at me. "Did you at least have someone helping you out here, with Teddy?"

"Er, Kreacher's here . . . ?"

"Harry," she says, her frown deepening. "It's a great responsibility, to care for Teddy, and not one you should undertake with an injury. If something happened to him, and you were unable to help because you were—"

The snort that comes shooting out of me is not on purpose. But once it's out, there's no reason to hold back, is there? (No, I am not throwing myself into confrontation, and I have never, ever done so.)

"Something like him getting sick, you mean?"

The flash of worry in her eyes is not my imagination. But she just gracefully takes a seat in the chair she always sit in when she's here.

"I take it he got one of his little fevers, then? Is he all right?"

"Oh, yeah, he's fine now. But why wouldn't he be? The moon is already waning."

She jerks in her seat so violently that she grabs onto the sides of it to keep herself seated. "What is that supposed to mean?" she snaps.

I am _not_ _thinking_ about Bellatrix Lestrange.

"I guess I need to tell you something. See, the thing is, Teddy got an awful fever on the night of the full moon, and his skin was itching very badly, and he couldn't maintain control of his Metamorphmagy. I hate to have to bring this up, but you obviously don't know, or you would have told me. Right?"

She is pale, and draws herself up regally, and her lips are a thin slash mark. "Harry," she beings in a very cool, calm voice.

I'm the one jumping up out of my seat. "You didn't tell me!" I snap at her. "What did you think? That I was going to reject him or something?"

"I didn't tell you because I don't know what it is, yet," she replies, her face and voice and whole self seeming tight.

"What it is?" I repeat, almost laughing. "He's turning into a werewolf."

"No, he isn't," she says firmly. She looks so sure of herself that I know immediately this isn't denial, and I force myself back into my seat to listen. "If he were going to, he would have done it by now. That's what the Healer told me."

"Teddy said he didn't go to her, anymore."

"Because she told me she couldn't help me, and told me I needed to find a specialist."

"Well? Have you found one?"

There is a bitter laugh that escapes from her, cut off so quickly I almost think I imagined it. "And just who specialises in this? Teddy's case is entirely unique."

"Werewolves have had kids before," I say staunchly.

"A few," she agrees. "But of those few, none of them have had one with a Metamorphmagus, and none of their offspring have turned up with an illness related to the cycle of the moon."

"What, none?" I stammer, and I'm completely stunned. I'd thought surely, someone, somewhere . . .

"My only recourse at this point is to get in contact with a research facility somewhere. There is one specifically dedicated to lycanthropy in Switzerland, and there's a sort of experimental clinic for many unusual maladies based out of Spain . . ."

"You mean you're moving Teddy out of the country?" I ask, slightly panicked at the whole thing. I had no idea it was so serious, and now to think he might be _gone_, just when I'm starting to get a feel for this whole thing! I think wildly for a moment that I won't allow her to take the Bug away from me, but she is still composed, and still talking, and I make myself focus on her.

"No, Harry. At least, not now. I don't trust any of the facilities I've been hearing about. As far as I can see, they are about sensationalism and grotesqueries. I've yet to hear a good word about these places. They don't want to cure those poor suffering people, they only want to study them. No, I would never take my grandson to them. Not if there is any other recourse in the world, and maybe not then."

I feel like I'm missing something, even while I am reassured by this. It nags at me, but I don't know how to voice the question that I feel I should be asking. I can't seem to figure out the question.

"Do you want something to drink?" I finally say, opening my mouth to call Kreacher.

"No, thank you," she says politely. "I'd like to go home, and get unpacked, I think. The holiday was lovely, but travelling wears me out."

"Oh, er, of course. Teddy's in his room. Hopefully getting his stuff together."

Andromeda goes upstairs, with me trailing after her, to get Teddy. As I come up behind her where she stands in Teddy's doorway, I see that he has left off packing up what he brought with him, to give her one of his patented under-the-fringe-of-hair looks.

"Are you mad at me?"

She pauses for just a second too long, and I want to strangle her. But I ball my hands up into fists and resist the temptation. (See? I _am_ capable of restraint!) Then she says, "No, darling. It was bound to happen eventually."

Notice how she doesn't actually _say_ it wasn't his fault, like he should have done a better job of hiding it from me? Notice how I am _still_ restrained enough not to jump her from behind and force the words out of her? It's a close thing, though.

Teddy shoves the rest of his stuff into the bag he brought with him, and we all head back downstairs. But at the landing, I suddenly pick Teddy up, desperate to make sure that he understands my position on this whole thing before he leaves. I throw him over my shoulder, digging my fingers into his ribs and eliciting both giggles and shrieks. He drops the bag, but I squeeze my fingers over the wand in my pocket and it floats along behind us.

"It's going to be okay, Bug," I say softly, right into his ear. "It wasn't your fault that I found out, and it's not a bad thing that I did. I'm going to do anything I can to help you get better. Do you believe me?"

His breath whuffs out of him as he stops squirming. "Yeah," he says at last. "You're not allowed to lie."

"That's right," I say firmly, and tickle his sides again. I can't resist pulling a face at Andromeda, who is standing there with a look of complete patience that makes it all the more obvious she doesn't think much of boyish antics and horseplay. Well, maybe she thinks I'm too old for them or something, what with my being 22. Someone should have told her that guys never actually grow up.

* * *

Lucas has been feeling a little guilty about doing such a rough job on my arm and forcing me into desk work for the better part of a week. So it's not too hard to convince him to take a look around the Quidditch stadium and the pub for the engagement ring I dropped. I'd go myself, but I don't want to risk having Ginny see me on the street.

He doesn't find it, and I feel even more depressed. Maybe it really is a sign.

I get a note from Neville, asking me if I asked her yet. I send a note back, deciding to be honest, and tell him I lost the ring. Ever the voice of logic, Neville sends back another note asking me why I don't get another one.

Okay, maybe it's not a sign. Maybe it's just me being dumb. I still have my mother's ring, after all. But it doesn't seem to suit Ginny. That ring, that was the one that would have been right for her, and I don't know how I'll be able to ask her to marry me if I don't have a ring that looks right on her hand. She'll notice it's wrong, won't she?

And just now, I'm feeling too worried about other things. Teddy's illness is never far from my mind, and I really do have to figure out some way to help Andromeda find a solution. I think I'm going to ask Teddy if it's okay for me to tell his Uncle Ron and Aunt Hermione (who, like me, is grateful that Teddy is old enough to say her name properly—Ninnie is just as embarrassing as Hey-hee, after all) about it, so the three of us can brainstorm. We always did do better as a group.

Then it finally occurs to me. The question I should have asked.

If the Healer can't help anymore—does that mean he's getting worse?

* * *

**_A/N:_** _Okay, everyone, here is your chance! And if you didn't want a chance, I'll just beg you to do it anyway!_

_I have a direction I'd like to take this story in, but it is extremely adaptable. I can basically do anything that you guys want me to! It will become necessary to relocate Teddy at some point, but I have many different thoughts about where I might take him. They are varied. I have considered a quieter part of England or Wales, I have considered a few areas in Canada, the Northwestern or Southeastern United States, Spain . . ._

_So what I'm saying is, I want your opinion. Tell me where you'd like to see him go, because I can't make up my mind. And tell me if there is anything else in particular that you'd really like to see in the story. I will be devoting most of my time to solving the problem of Teddy's illness, and to Harry's relationship issues, and even a little bit to Luna's field research as a naturalist. If there is anything else you're interested in seeing in these characters' lives, let me know. I am here to oblige!_

_Oh, and, if it's not too much trouble, of course, I'd love to have some constructive criticism on this chapter . . ._


	5. Chapter 5

Chapter Five

Hermione Knows Everything

Convincing Teddy to let me talk to Hermione and Ron wasn't hard—he loves them, and he's just as impressed by Hermione's prodigious genius as I ever was. Convincing Andromeda is a different story.

"Harry, you can't be serious."

_Uh, yeah, lady, I'm pretty serious._ Luckily for me, I can keep my mouth shut when I'm thinking. Unluckily, I have decently expressive eyes. It's great for romance, not so much for holding back the snark.

"Harry, you obviously have not thought this through. Even leaving aside that we don't have a diagnosis of Teddy's illness to tell them . . . Do you realise what could happen if this becomes public knowledge? He is already persecuted for who his father was! What do you think would happen if anyone found out about this? He'd be facing public revilement, perhaps worse. And so would you and I," she adds with a raised eyebrow.

"Like I'd care about people's opinions of me," I mutter, but then I shake my head impatiently, not willing to get off track in this conversation. I have a point, and I'm sticking to it. "I'm not planning to paste up broadsheets, for Merlin's sake. I'm talking about Ron and Hermione, my best friends since the age of eleven."

"You are young people, and in my experience, young people have a tendency to ignore the consequences of their actions. Take my daughter. Or me," she adds more softly. "If I'd known what it would lead to, to run away with Ted . . ."

"You'd still have done it, wouldn't you?" I ask her. Hoping the answer is yes, obviously.

"Yes, of course. We loved each other very much. But this is . . . Do you truly trust your friends so much?" I take a deep breath. "Andromeda, do you know what I did, to defeat Voldemort?" You'd think it would be easier to talk about, after five years. It bloody well isn't. (And doctor, you can stuff it, unless you faced off against a murdering Dark Lord and want to compare notes.)

"Not exactly. But you've never spoken much of it."

"Does anyone know what I did, to the best of your knowledge?"

"No. You've never explained it."

"Ron and Hermione know. They know every detail. They know all the horrible stuff that Professor Dumbledore told me to keep secret. And they've never breathed a word of it. To anyone. We don't even talk to _each other_ about it. If they can keep a secret that big, I think they can handle this. They are my best friends, and I don't think it's possible for me not to tell them. And you don't really know Hermione, no offense. She'll be able to help."

She opens her mouth, and closes it again.

Man, when I'm good, I'm _good_.

* * *

I swagger into Ron's cubicle and sit down in his desk chair, putting my feet up on his desk with a sharp clunk. He turns around from the tackboard he's standing in front of—appears to be a map with people's positions marked on it and lots of arrows pointing to where they should go—and gives me a wary look.

"I want some coffee, newbie."

"Of course, sir, but pardon me, sir, I seem to recall that you actually despise coffee. Sir, would you permit me, please, to fetch you a cup of tea instead? My most humble apologies for being so forward with my opinion, sir."

I grin at him. "I could get used to this. Do you promise to call me sir next time we go to the Leaky for a pint?"

He smacks the back of my head. "Feet off the desk, _sir_. You know the Trout is always on about how we don't take proper care with the office equipment."

"Well, we're Aurors, not fucking paper pushers," I declare cheerfully, thumping my feet back down on the floor. "Merlin, I always hated studying those maps."

"Well, they're dead useful for training us in strategy, aren't they? Showing us how successful operations have been carried out and all."

"Strategy was always your department," I shrug, fully aware of my shortcomings and not caring. That's why there's more than one Auror on most jobs, isn't it? "I'm more of a blow-stuff-up-and-run kind of guy."

"Must be why the Trout was saying you'll never get a promotion."

As a matter of fact, during our last little talk about etiquette for famous people, Kingsley mentioned that Head Auror Nguyen, also known as the Trout (for the cold, fishy stare he gives suspects) is going to start grooming me for bigger and better things as soon as I've been out of training long enough that it won't look like posturing. Something about "leadership potential" or some kind of bullshit like that. (Doctor, you seem to be saying I could really go places if I didn't underestimate myself—you don't have to say such ridiculous things just to get my attention!)

"What are you doing in here, anyway? Don't you have a suspect to question—excuse me, _help_ question, since you're still too new to do it yourself?"

"Finished," I say in a breezy voice, ignoring the jab with a very dramatic expression of offended dignity. "Took one look at my infamous self and caved. I thought Lucas would cry, he was so disappointed at how easy it was. Swear to you, getting answers out of that guy was easier than getting sex out of a cheap hooker with 50 Knuts."

"You'd know that, to compare, would you?" Ron asks me with a grin. "I'll be sure to mention that to Ginny when I see her next."

I roll my eyes at him. Like I'd _dare_ to be unfaithful to Ginny, much less work up the nerve to actually approach a hooker, cheap or otherwise. "I'm in here because I need to see you and Hermione tonight. You guys have plans?"

Ron shakes his head. "Nah, Hermione has a big day with a court case that you couldn't pay me to understand. We were just going to have a quiet night in."

Ron informed me recently that while he marginally still lives at the Burrow, he spends near every night in Hermione's London flat, actually keeps clothes and toothbrush there and everything. I was honestly a little surprised by that, but it makes sense, I guess. They've never been all that great at talking about the way they feel about each other, but they make it pretty obvious. I wonder how Molly feels about it, but I assume I'd hear all about it if she didn't like it, what with her being anything but tight-lipped when she's upset. Maybe she's just glad she doesn't have to clean up after him anymore.

"Mind if I come by, then?"

"No, Hermione will love to see you. I know we all work in the same building, but we hardly ever see each other, these days."

"Hey, we're busy people. Adults with _careers,_" I say, stressing the last word until it's nearly obscene. Ron and I have a bit of a laugh about that. Who'd have thought, right? I wasn't even expecting to make it to adulthood, much less be where I am now. And I think Ron is still surprised by himself pretty consistently, even with how much he grew up trying to take care of George.

"You and Hermione ever getting married, mate?" I ask, trying to sound casual about it, with my arms behind my head, staring at the ceiling.

"Maybe," he says, just as casually, his gaze on the strategy board again. "What about you and my sister?"

Thinking of the missing ring, my stomach clenches. I'm not about to tell Ron I'm delaying the proposal for no good reason. I just grin at him.

"Making an honest woman out of her? Then where would my reputation as a rogue go?"

He mock-growls and fakes a swing at me, but lets me catch his fist in my palm. I stand up.

"Got to write up my report on the interrogation. See you tonight. Maybe seven?"

"Send a note to Hermione, would you, mate? She'll be cross with me for not telling her, and you know I'll forget."

I go back to my desk and write the note immediately, since I'm liable to forget, myself. I fold it up into a proper paper airplane—not like most of these idiots who've never seen a plane, paper or otherwise, and basically just fold them in half and charm them—and send it to Hermione. She'll know it's from me just from the folding, so I didn't bother to sign it. If she didn't know it was from me, it would be quite ominous, come to think of it. _I'm just warning you, I'm coming to your place tonight. Please don't be (cough) __busy__. See you around 7:00._

I chuckle, imagining her reaction if she didn't, for some reason, recognise my handwriting or my liberty with inviting myself over. She'd have some damn good wards up around the place by seven, that's for sure.

* * *

I step into the Floo at something like 6:45, because I'm that anxious to get some of this off my chest and be that much closer to solving Teddy's problem. When I arrive, Ron and Hermione are on the sofa. Together.

"Gah!" I fling myself toward the kitchen, putting my hands over my eyes. "Argh!" Hands are in shirts, and lips are sucking, and, and, and . . . I do not need to _see_ that. "I'm sorry I'm early!" I say, then I run into the kitchen counter because my eyes are covered. "Motherfucker!" I shout, reeling back and gasping for breath, tears smarting in my eyes because it really sodding hurts to ram your hip and shin into things.

"You said you'd watch your language in my home!" Hermione calls from the sofa. I hear Ron cracking up laughing.

"This is not funny," I huff, sinking down on one of the stools lined up at the island that separates the kitchen from the living room. I roll up the leg of my pants to see that my shin is swelling rather rapidly, and turning an interesting purple-red colour. "I hate both of you," I say with complete conviction.

Hermione comes over and kneels down and speaks an incantation. The swelling disappears and leaves behind only a little red that will probably become a bruise about as serious as a pixie fart.

"Love you, Hermione," I say sweetly.

She stands up, rolling her eyes, but smiling. "Good to see you, Harry," she says, leaning over to give me a peck on the cheek.

"Stop _laughing_, Ron!" I say with a scowl.

He grins at me over the back of the sofa. "But it's funny. We weren't really doing anything. We heard the Floo starting up, and we thought we'd give you a bit of a show."

"Do you want to know what me and Ginny did a few weeks ago? I've got that big old house all to myself, you know, all those rooms, and I told Kreacher to take a hike, so—"

"Harry, I apologise very sincerely for the joke I played on you," Ron says soberly. "I can see now that it was a mistake, not funny at all, and I will never, ever do something like that again."

When we're both laughing, Hermione just rolls her eyes again and steps past me into the kitchen, muttering, "Boys." She pulls a plate of cold cuts and sliced fruit from the fridge, which she carries back into the living area and sets on her coffee table. I follow her into the room (pretending not to notice the Imperturbable charm she casts on the carpet to ward off crumbs) and sit down in the armchair while she sits beside Ron on the couch. "If you're starving, Harry, I'll put together something more substantial."

"What about me?" Ron pouts.

"I already fed you dinner, so don't give me that look."

"I've eaten," I assure her. But we all fall on the plate quite happily.

"So, what's going on, Harry? I could tell it was something important, but the note didn't say, and Ron says you didn't tell him, either."

"That's because it's the Bug," I say, feeling my good humour beginning to evaporate. "I didn't want to risk anyone else overhearing."

Unconsciously, the two of them scoot closer together, linking their hands.

"It's something bad?" Ron ventures.

I shrug irritably. I hardly know what to call it. But I guess "bad" is accurate enough. "He's sick," I say, giving them a moment to go with that, then I explain the situation as I understand it. His illness is unique and new, and beginning to worsen. "Andromeda says he wasn't so unhealthy, before. She only started seeing the pattern with the moon a few months ago."

"Blimey, you're sure he's not a werewolf?" That's from Ron. Ever the deep thinker.

Hermione frowns, and I can see her flipping through her brain catalogue. "It does seem a bit like lycanthropy is trying to manifest itself, actually. Unsuccessfully. You said his hair was changing colour?"

I nod. "And now that I think about it, I'm pretty sure his nose was changing shape, as well."

She nods. "It sounds to me like his Metamorphmagus talent was working to keep the influence of the lycanthropy at bay."

I blink at her, stunned. It makes a lot of sense, and it's bloody obvious. No wonder I didn't see it before. I'm an idiot, after all.

"But how would that work?" I ask her, desperate to understand what is happening to my godson. Most people would probably be protesting that a Healer would have known this, but my faith is far more solidly on Hermione's intelligence than anyone else's.

"I have no idea," she says, and I immediately feel that little bit of hope that was swelling in my chest pop and start to deflate. "But I think I know where to go, to do a bit of research," she adds, giving me a little smile.

Well, hope springs eternal, and all that rot.

But I don't feel right about it, and I try to sort out why. It was one thing for me to leave Hermione to her research when it was my life on the line. I was fine with that. But this is Teddy's life. I shouldn't do it this way . . .

"I want to do it with you," I hear myself saying, and my face probably mirrors the gobsmacked expression Ron is wearing.

"You want to do research?" Hermione asks, probably just trying to confirm that she heard me correctly.

"Yeah," I say, forcing confidence into my answer. "Bug is _my_ godson, and . . ." I shrug, like there's something between my shoulder blades. Got to get rid of that stupid vulnerability somehow. "Remus and Tonks trusted me to look after him, so I have to do it right." My voice is firm, and I am set on this.

Then Hermione, being a girl and well-versed in the male tendency toward bravado, reaches out to squeeze my hand. "Okay, Harry. Come over tomorrow night, okay? I have to get a few things before we can start."

I nod my head, because Hermione's comforting hand is making it sort of hard to speak. Stupid girls.

* * *

When I come over the next night, I bring a small roll of parchment to take notes, and I bring a list of everything I saw from Bug on that night. Hermione is pretty impressed with me.

Ron is there with her, already flipping through some kind of magazine article, and he looks up to give me his patented I-don't-get-it expression. "Magical medical speak is the most convoluted language I've ever heard."

"Convoluted, eh? Hermione, I think you've finally gotten him housebroken!"

Ron scowls at me, and tries to hide his rude hand gesture, but Hermione catches him and flicks his ear. Of course, then she ruffles her hand in his hair and drops a quick kiss on him.

"Go easy on him, Harry, he's had a hard afternoon."

"He has?"

"I've been going cross-eyed trying to read this stuff," Ron said, giving a small stack of publications a disgusted look. "And looking up words in the dictionary because Hermione wouldn't tell me what they meant."

"Why?" I ask, mystified.

"They're articles about research in lycanthropy and stuff," Ron says.

"Wait. You're looking at all of this . . . because of Teddy?"

I get a "duh" look. "Well, yeah."

"But you hate doing this stuff."

"Yeah, but," he shrugs, going red all the way to his ears, "you're my best mate, so, you know."

Yeah, I do know. And we don't need to say anything else. (Dunno, doctor, I thought it was pretty normal for blokes to pretend they don't have emotions.) I throw myself down beside him, hand my notes on Teddy's symptoms over to Hermione, and pick up one of the articles. "Get me up to speed," I say.

It takes a while.

It's later that night, when I am making some tea (got to pull my weight, if they're going to do all this for me) that I lean casually against the counter and confess my biggest problem with all this.

"Teddy doesn't want me to tell Ginny."

Ron frowns at that, and I am frowning right back at him.

"Why not?"

"I reckon that between the people who say nasty stuff to him in public, and the way his grandmother has been acting . . . He feels bad about this, or guilty or something. He's embarrassed, maybe. I'm trying to, you know, tell him it's okay, but . . ." I shrug with helplessness. "Maybe he'll believe me later. But I don't know what I can do about Ginny. I mean, she's going to notice that I'm doing all this research and getting so involved with him, especially if we can find a Healer who can help him. I'm not sure how long I could keep it a secret, you know? But I can't just go behind the Bug's back, can I?"

I'm begging for help, in my own way. (Yes, doctor, of course I would be able to ask for help if I _really_ needed it!)

"Why don't you just tell her that?" Hermione says.

"Tell her what?"

"That something's up with Teddy but he doesn't want anyone to know, and you wish you could explain everything but you want to respect his wishes."

"Oh. I guess I could do that."

Hermione just smiles at me.

"Why would he want us to know, but not her?" Ron speaks up.

I look at Hermione. This is another one I'm not too clear on, but she knows everything.

"Maybe—" She makes an apologetic face at me, I'm not at all sure why. "Maybe he just doesn't know her that well. He's seen Ron and I a lot, but she lives so far and keeps so busy . . ."

That would make sense, and I find myself strangely uncomfortable with the whole thing. I mean, I know that Ginny and I don't see each other as often as I see these two, but saying it outright like that sounds bad.

I need to find that ring.

* * *

What we managed to find out from our research (which took not only that night, but three subsequent nights), was basically that Andromeda was correct. Teddy's case is unique. However, Hermione is the one who was brilliant enough to figure out that there was a medical centre in—of all the random places—Wrexham. It's really close to Anglesey, in case anyone was wondering. She found out about them, made sure they were decent, and we presented it to Andromeda. Andromeda went to the Wrexham Research Hospital for Witches, Wizards, and Sentient Creatures to scope them out. She discovered them to be discrete, efficient people.

So, Teddy's first appointment is going to be next week. They don't allow a Floo connexion in the hospital building, which means we have to Apparate into the town of Wrexham and enter the hospital by rather more traditional means (like walking through the front door). That's right, we. I wouldn't miss it. To make Side-Along as easy on the Bug as possible, we want to Floo to a place nearby and Apparate from there. We might even stay the night in the nearby location, because his appointment is early in the morning.

Gosh. May I suggest Holyhead?

* * *

_**A/N:** Okay, so!_

_Once upon a time, I had a Livejournal account. I had forgotten, but lo and behold, it is still there! So I've started using it again, and it will mostly be for the purposes of my fanfiction writing. Just to have a place for you guys to ask me questions, etc, and for me to communicate to you. It is actually listed as my homepage on my profile, but just in case, this is the address:_

_livejournal (dot) com (forward slash) users (forward slash) faren (underscore) maddox_

_Hopefully you'll all aware that you substitute the punctuation being described in the parentheses for the actual punctuation. **And there is an important announcement that I just posted as a Livejournal entry. You need to read that.**_


	6. Chapter 6

_**A/N:** Yeah, I know it's been forever since I updated. And yeah, I'm sorry. And no, I'm not abandoning the story. I've just been caught up in a lot of drama at work and in my life, and it's taken my attention away from things. I'm back on track, now, and I'm already working on the next chapter. You can keep up with what's going on if you check my Livejournal (the homepage link on my profile page). I am also doing some other writing, now. I am a book reviewer, which is a lot of fun, for me. If you are interested in the books I'm reading, you can see my reviews and some other fun stuff at my website, which is: farenmaddox (dot) com. You guys should totally get involved! I would love some book recommendations for future reviews!_

_I would simply like to say "thank you" to everyone who's been reviewing this story. You've given me a lot of helpful comments, and I really hope you're going to like this chapter._

* * *

The Vomiting Routine

It is January, and we've already established our routine. We're four months into the quest for a cure for Teddy, which mostly consists of a monthly visit to the hospital. I've just firecalled Andromeda, and when she clears me to Floo into her sitting room, we begin Phase One of our routine. Phase One is the three of us taking the Floo to the Dwynwen and Potion, where we have secured a room for the night. Phase Two is sleeping there. Phase Three will be Apparating into Wrexham tomorrow morning and spending most of the day at the hospital. Phase Four is Apparating back to the pub in Holyhead, collecting our overnight things, and Flooing back to Andromeda and Teddy's house.

(I have my own, private Phase Five, by the way. I Floo back to my house and spend the evening drinking too much. Since Nguyen is so kind as to give me evening duty the day after these little trips, I feel I should take advantage of the opportunity. If you had to spend all day at that hospital, you'd do it, too.)

We arrive in Holyhead and spend the required couple of minutes exchanging jovial pleasantries with Brychan, the landlord of the inn, and trying not to stare at the impossible number of freckles crammed onto his skin. Andromeda and Teddy go into the pub for some dinner, but I take the overnight bag upstairs and begin my personal Phase One Point Five. That is to say, I walk over to the Harpies practice stadium to spend the evening with Ginny.

It's cold and miserable as I walk over. No surprise there, it's January in Wales. Still, even though the weather's awful, I'm just glad Christmas is over. Talk about awkward. There was this ridiculous level of expectation, literally palpable on the air in the Burrow, that I was going to propose to Ginny while she was there. I didn't. Thank Merlin for Ron, though, because he finally popped the question to Hermione and suddenly no one was paying attention to me and Ginny anymore. The wedding is going to be in April, so there's four more months I don't have to worry about it while Molly goes into paroxysms over planning their wedding.

There's a room just off the locker room in the Harpies stadium, built with a fireplace so they could have a Floo connection, and a sort of lounge has grown up around it. There's all sorts of comfy, squashy chairs, the fire is always lit, and they've started filling up a cabinet with drinks and snacks. On torturous days like this, the players tend to get the chill off in the shower, then come in here to sit around the fire and get warm all through.

I'm greeted with quite a few friendly slaps on the back and smiles when I come in. I know all the regular players and reserves on a first-name basis, now. There's always a bloke or two hanging round in here, visiting their girl, and they're getting used to me being one of them.

(You may be condemning me at this point for not staying the evening with Andromeda and Teddy, but I refuse to feel guilt over it. I take Teddy on all my days off work, now, so we spend a lot of time together already.)

Ginny is curled up on the rug in front of the fire, locked in conversation with her housemate, Gertrude Harcourt, who is sitting in a chair above her. Ginny looks amazing, laying on her side, her head propped up on an elbow, with tendrils of her hair—still wet from a shower—going everywhere. I'm coming in from behind Ginny. Gerty sees me, but I put my finger to my lips and creep forward. I'm good at creeping (as well I should be, after three and a half years of Auror work on top of my fairly abnormal school career), so Ginny doesn't know I'm there until I fling myself on top of her, shouting her name.

She answers with a shriek and an elbow in my face.

I really need to think these things through better.

Gerty is _such_ a girl, and gets far too concerned with the blood I'm getting on the carpet, while Ginny is occupied with telling me off for scaring her. It's not until Gwenog walks in from her office to see about all the commotion that someone thinks to fix my broken nose.

"Thanks," I say to her, pinching my newly-healed nose to be sure the blood has stopped.

"Not a problem," she says, waving a hand to dismiss it, then turns to her two players with her right eyebrow raised high. "I'm surprised at you two. I thought you got paid to think on your feet."

"Well, technically, we get paid to think on our _broom_," Ginny points out with a smirk, which I try to stop by squeezing her arm.

"I've half a mind to send you back out for some more practice," Gwenog counters, that eyebrow going even higher.

Gerty is quick to point out that she got the blood off the carpet before it could stain. Ginny just says that I wouldn't know it was really her if she'd fixed me before she yelled at me.

"Right, babe?" she croons, linking her arm through mine.

We don't use pet names. Never have. If she's calling me babe, I assume she's warning me that the correct answer is "yes, my sweet sugar buns" or I'm in the doghouse. I guess Gwenog's serious about sending them back out into the nasty damp weather. She _does_ run a pretty tight ship.

"Yeah, we're special like that," is what I settle for, leaning over to plant a kiss on Ginny's cheek. Gwenog harrumphs and moves on, and Ginny sinks back down to the floor to soak in the fire's warmth, lecturing me about sneak attacks. I catch Gwenog looking over her shoulder as she's moving on, though, and she winks at me. Clever lady.

"You're right," I sigh, stretching myself out beside her. "I _should_ know better, because I know you where you got those reflexes."

She stiffens beside me. Oops. You ever get those moments where you know before you finish your sentence that you shouldn't have started it, but by then it's too late? This would be one of those.

Her sixth year at Hogwarts is a sore point that does not come up between us. Does. Not. And there I go, opening my big fat mouth. (Say what you like, doctor, but I bet there's things you don't talk about with your girlfriend, either.) Because, in retrospect, what I did to her was not the right thing. She didn't want or need me to "protect" her, and she just ended up getting hurt anyway. My feelings for her aside, it should have been a joint decision, and I took it all into my own hands. Knowing better now doesn't really help, which is why we don't talk about it.

I decide to go with the apologize and pretend it didn't happen route. "Sorry," I mutter, then I nuzzle my face against the back of her neck, feeling the cold sensation of her damp hair, and I inhale that wonderful blueberry smell (she knows I like it, so keeps some of her soap at the stadium). "So glad I get to see you. Tomorrow is going to be hell."

She rolls over to face me, and everyone ignores the physical display we're making. This room has become the one place for the Harpies to totally relax, and I've been given the honour of sharing it from time to time. Gerty moves away from us strikes up a conversation with one of the reserve chasers, a girl named Gretchen, who is tangling her fingers in the hand of a quiet guy that seems familiar. I know I've seen him before, and I think he might work with Hermione in the law offices at the DMLE. It's funny, the type of people who end up together.

"So . . . I got a letter from Luna," Ginny says.

So did I. Talk about the type of people who end up together.

"There's not a chance in hell she actually knows how to plan a wedding, is there?" I ask.

Ginny gives me a look that says I shouldn't have even bothered asking the question. "Don't worry, I've already called Hermione and Hannah. Hannah says we invite her out to lunch, and just sort of take over things. I think we'd better listen to Hannah, since she's the only real _girl_ out of all of us."

"I just think it's weird," I sigh.

"What's weird?"

"Her and Scamander. We were there when they met, remember? It wasn't like sparks were flying or something."

"Things can develop naturally, you know," she says with amusement.

"After four months?" I say doubtfully.

"I don't see why not."

Maybe I should have seen this coming. Luna writes pretty often, and I try to see her every few weeks, because I know she doesn't have many friends and she would let _The Quibbler_ completely consume her life if she didn't have a distracting presence. Only, the last four months, her letters and conversations have been full of Rolf Scamander. It's all _Rolf says_ and _Rolf thinks_, and I always feel a little annoyed by how important his opinion seems to be to her. I was not all that impressed with Mr. Calm Wisdom when I met him.

But, in retrospect, I should have seen it coming. As it was, Luna announcing her impending marriage to Scamander—right on the heels of Ron and Hermione's announcement—was a complete surprise. Everyone is getting married. Neville and Hannah in just a few weeks, Ron and Hermione in the spring, and I don't think Luna mentioned a date for her wedding yet. Everyone except me and Ginny, of course. Fuck.

Ginny obviously is ready to talk about something else.

"Have you spoken to Teddy?" she asks me, and I feel a little clench in my gut. This is _not_ a better topic of conversation. (No, doctor, I only want to avoid confrontation _in public_, I don't mind confrontation at all!)

"Yeah."

"He still doesn't want me to know?"

She tries not to let it show on her face, but I don't need to see the expression to know how she's feeling, not with as well as I know her. I run my palm along her jaw.

"I'm sorry. It's not that he thinks you'll hurt him, Ginny, I promise it's not that. He just doesn't know you that well. And after what's been happening since people found out he's going to the hospital . . . Just give it time, okay?"

Ginny pulls back from my hand, and says, "Okay," when it's obvious that she means anything but. She's not going to argue, not after I called her up last month to tell her that Teddy and Andromeda got accosted in the street by people who thought he was coming to the hospital for some kind of lycanthropy treatment. They got things thrown at them, and Andromeda ended up having to see a Healer because something knocked her on the head. I wasn't allowed to respond to the call for Aurors, but I wish I had been. Or maybe not, since I'd likely have been fired. The point is, Teddy has been even less happy about people knowing anything about him since that happened. (Not least of all because Andromeda hasn't taken him out of the house much in four weeks—she doesn't even want him at the Burrow unless she's there.)

"Let's go back to your place," I say, more to change the subject than from any real desire to leave. She and Gertrude are renting a small place together that's just down the road, a ten-minute walk from here. I find that amazingly convenient.

She sighs, and rolls over onto her back. "But it's so warm here."

"I'll cook dinner."

She grins, and bursts up from the ground to put her arms around my neck—but she's not the only one who gets startled by sudden moves like that. I jerk backward and end up hitting my head on a chair. Unlike the incident with my nose a few minutes ago, Ginny is very apologetic. She kisses the little bump with great ceremony, and drags me upright so we can walk to her house.

I catch her roommate's eye as we're walking out, and she nods. Gerty is a smart girl, she knows to stay out for a bit. There's a few other girls who live in town, and she can go hang out with one of them tonight. Normally, I'd feel bad about kicking a girl out of her own house for my sake, but I've been so busy that these trips for Teddy are the only time I get to spend in Holyhead. Ginny comes to London a few times a month, but we really don't see each other that often.

I should put in a transfer request, I suppose. But I'd go loony, being an Auror in such a small community, not to mention how far I'd be from Bug. London is better for me, and eventually Ginny will get onto the national team, and then she'll be able to live in the city with me. Maybe then, she and Teddy will be able to get closer to each other, although I sincerely hope he'll allow me to tell her the details of his illness before she gets drafted for England. That could be another year, yet.

Ginny and I go back to her house and do things that are better left out of any conversation that involves my five-year-old godson. Suffice it to say that I didn't want to think about anything for a while, and Ginny is good at distracting me. We're both tired, so I only get a few (slightly slurred) sentences into a tale from work before we both drift off to sleep, well before Gerty got brave enough to return.

* * *

I can't bring myself to like Doctor David Griffith. It might be because I had to drag myself out of my girlfriend's warm bed _way_ too early in the morning just to be confronted with the dour expression on his pointy, be-spectacled face. It might be because I hate the way he slicks back his lifeless brown hair, and the way he peers at me through those thick glasses like he's expecting me, at any moment, to start screaming at him. But mostly, I think it's just the way he talks to Teddy, or rather, doesn't talk.

I can handle him ignoring me and addressing everything to Andromeda, because she's his grandmother and guardian. But I can't get over the way he doesn't take the time to tell Teddy what it is that he wants to do to the kid's body. He probably wonders why I spend so much time glaring at him without speaking to him, because he's just the kind of pompous twat who isn't able to figure it out—even when I redirect the conversation to the Bug while staring at the doctor.

It's not like Dr. Griffith is a bad guy, I reason with myself. He's just very focused on being a doctor, to the exclusion of all else. Like manners, and a personality. (I'm reasoning with myself because I'm trying not to punch him in his condescending mouth.)

You may have noticed that Phrase Three is my least favourite phase.

"Mr. Potter?" Griffith says suddenly, breaking off the explanation he was giving Andromeda of how today will proceed.

"Yes, doctor?"

"Just wondering if you're with us," he says, and I fight an even stronger urge to hit him.

"Yes," I grind out, and I feel Teddy squeezing my hand. I look down to see that he's giving me a worried look, and I force myself to smile at Dr. Griffith. Really, the kid is getting to know me way too well. He's started reading my moods, and right now I think he's worried I'm going to snap or something. I would like to, but I can't. This is Teddy's doctor, and the Bug's health is more important than anything else, to me.

"Okay," he smiles. "First things first, then. I want to get a blood sample before we have Teddy take anything, since we need the cleanest sample possible."

Teddy lets go of my hand, but only so he could wedge himself against my side and press his face against me. I put my arm around him, feeling helpless. Teddy hates needles. He hates them with a passion. But no one can argue that the hospital doesn't need the blood samples, so we all have to live with it. And the poor kid never even argues. He just turns into a silent wreck until it's over, which is infinitely worse. I could handle a temper tantrum. I can't handle having to just sit there. (No, doctor, I do not get my feelings of self-worth from taking action.)

Half an hour of paperwork and bureaucracy later (Andromeda handles that stuff, I just don't have the patience), Bug is sitting there with his arm out and his eyes squeezed shut, waiting for a nurse to shove a needle in his arm. Andromeda tells him to be brave, but he doesn't even open his eyes to acknowledge her. I want to be able to do something. The only thing I can think of to do is to step behind the stool he's perched on, and put my hands on his shoulders.

He suddenly leans back against me, and I feel him relax a little. I put my arms all the way around him, letting his head rest on my chest, but he still makes a horrible little whimper when the needle breaks his skin. The nurse gives him a very sympathetic smile, but that's when Dr. Griffith walks in and says heartily,

"He'll get used to it."

Merlin, I hate him.

I keep my arms around Bug while the nurse is bandaging his arm. Insurance, you understand.

"We're all wizards here, right?" I say in my most chipper voice. "Isn't there some kind of magical means for getting blood, one that doesn't hurt? I mean, what the hell is magic for if we can't do something useful with it, right?"

"Oh, there's work being done in that area," Griffith replies, just as cheerfully. "But the solution is a ways off, yet, and the staff at Wrexham is committed to using the most reliable and safest method, in everything we do."

I want to fucking kill him. So much.

Andromeda speaks up. "You will, of course, inform us as soon as an alternative method is proven to be safe?" Her eyes are glittering in that way that reminds me so much of her sister.

Even Griffith listens to Andromeda. "Of course," he agrees, slightly more subdued. Then he pulls a little bottle from his pocket, and brightens up again. "What do you suppose I have here?"

Merlin's beard. He won't talk to children, but he'll talk to us like we're children?

"A potion?" I drawl, rolling my eyes at Teddy to try to get him to smile again.

"This is a possible treatment for Teddy," he says, obviously relishing the way all three of us spring to attention. "There is still some refinement that I would like to work on, which is why I wanted to get a new blood sample today. But this may be the solution we've been looking for."

"What is it?" Andromeda asks doubtfully. I'm still inclined to be hopeful, but this reminds me that she's been quietly dealing with "possible treatments" since Teddy was two.

"It uses Wolfsbane at its base," Griffith answers, beaming at his own cleverness. "I won't go into the details of all the ingredients and how it's made" —_since I don't have a fucking clue, I let my staff do all the work_, I mentally add— "but there was a lot of hard work to make sure it could be ingested by someone who does not actually become a werewolf."

"Why is this only a possibility, and not a sure thing?" Andromeda asks warily.

"Because we need to have Teddy take it, and observe him for side effects. There are any number of things that our experiments may have missed, or failed to take into account. There's also the possibility that he possesses something in his constitution that will necessitate adding to or subtracting from the amount of Wolfsbane used. What we'd like to do, today, is simply have him take a very small dose, and observe him for a few hours to see how he reacts to it."

"Wouldn't it be better if he took it on the actual full moon?" I chip in.

"Yes, we are certainly moving in that direction, but we need to be sure it is safe for him before we make this a regular treatment." Griffith is giving me a look that clearly communicates his sympathy for my unfortunate state of stupidity. But this time, I'm too distracted by hoping that this treatment will work to notice his condescension.

So Teddy takes his Very Small Dose of The Possible Treatment, which I believe Dr. Griffith is equating with the Holy Grail, and we spend the rest of the afternoon in the hospital's playroom for their (nonexistent) child patients. I'm pretty sure Teddy is the only one who's used the playroom in years, and there's not a lot in there that's actually interesting to him. Luckily, I brought a book. It was a present for Teddy from Hermione, and it is the coolest thing she's ever done—well, apart from all that help she gave me finding the Horcruxes, and that bag she made when we went into hiding, and . . . You know what? Hermione's just really cool. Anyway, she found an original, runic version of the Tales of Beedle the Bard, and she translated it into kid-friendly language. Just for Teddy. (I may have mentioned in the past that Teddy is really, really cute and gets people to fall in love with him easily.)

Teddy complains of nausea about half an hour after he takes the potion, and he picks at the lunch the hospital provides without eating much of it. Dr. Griffith is walking around scribbling down notes and asking all sorts of questions. I know this is his job, and he wouldn't do it if he wasn't good at it and didn't like it, but it seems too much like he's enjoying Teddy's discomfort to me. (For that last time, doctor, I am _not_ equating Teddy's problems with a person so I can have someone to blame!)

Feeling sick makes Bug quiet, so he winds up sitting in my lap, nearly asleep, while Andromeda reads to him. Mid-afternoon, he starts to feel better again, which makes Griffith ask some more questions and take some more notes. Teddy is starting to look overwhelmed and tired, and I'm tempted to snatch him out of the hospital and take him home, but I muster up some patience and wait it out. This is important. This is so Griffith can heal him.

Finally, Griffith is ready to let us go.

"We'll work this week on strengthening the amount of Wolfsbane, since I didn't notice a single change to Teddy's pupil dilation, and we should have a full dose ready for you to pick up Monday morning, Mrs. Tonks. The full moon is Tuesday, and since we have observed that his symptoms begin during the day, I would like him to take half the dose on Monday night, and the other half on Tuesday afternoon. We would like to see you here again on Wednesday to make a few observations. How does that sound to you?"

Andromeda agrees to the whole thing. I wish I could volunteer to come back on Monday morning to pick the medication up, but I'll be at work. I'll be going in on Wednesday afternoon, as well, so I won't even get to accompany them on Wednesday. At least I'll be there on Tuesday night. I'm always there on that night.

* * *

It is Wednesday, and I walk into work at noon to begin my shift. I'm going to be on plainclothes Diagon Alley patrol until seven o'clock tonight, which in my case necessitates drinking Polyjuice Potion because everyone knows what I look like. This is already a bad day, for me. It's made worse by the fact that Andromeda and Teddy are currently in Wrexham talking to Dr. Griffith, and I wish I was there with them to give the man my two Knuts about his "treatment." Or maybe I'd be giving him a couple of Galleons' worth.

Ron comes over to my desk, ready to greet me all cheerfully, but the look I give him makes him close his mouth and just stare at me.

"It was bad?" he asks after a minute.

Gee, what was his first clue?

"It was bad," I confirm. "You know how it made him a little nauseated last week? Turns out he's affected by the key ingredient, which they increased the strength of. He was puking until three o'clock in the morning. Not to mention crying. Nobody got to sleep until about five a.m. And since Andromeda and Teddy started out for the hospital at nine . . ."

Ron winces, and quickly retreats. The handy thing about having such old friends is that I can do this and we'll still be friends later. I put my head down on my desk and wait. Nguyen is sending somebody with whatever Polyjuice Potion I'm taking today, then I'll head out. And I'll probably just glare at people all day. Possibly chase a shoplifter, and possible be facing a charge of brutality afterward. (Is it sad that I was surprised you could charge Aurors with brutality? I didn't think the Ministry was quite that forward-thinking about its police force.)

No, nobody really likes patrol duty. Which is why everyone shares the weight of it, including boy heroes who usually get kowtowed to. After nearly four years working with these guys, they don't really give me anything special anymore. I'm usually really grateful for that. Today, I kind of want to pull in favours. Not that the Trout would give me any on his own, but I've been known to do lunch with the Minister.

Not. Thinking. Like. That.

A rookie, still wearing a scared expression from having to speak directly to the Trout, drops a bottle of sludge off at my desk. He stares at me, itching to open his mouth and gush about the fact that I'm Harry Potter. Something about my intense frown and the big circles under my eyes makes him go away, instead. I stare at the mud in the bottle, entertain one more thought about trying to get out of it, then grab the potion. If a five-year-old can drink gross stuff he doesn't want to drink, then so can I.

"Bottoms up," I sigh. I pocket the day's worth of Polyjuice and walk over to Lucas' desk, then we head out for duty.

* * *

Lucas and I each break up a duel in Knockturn Alley, Lucas handles a shoplifter at Madam Malkin's while I'm taking a quick meal break, and I do a lot of watching people go about their business. Since I look like no one they know, nobody stares at me or wants to talk to me (although I do get a few suspicious looks because I'm hanging out on the street looking shiftless), and I like this. I'm starting to think that I should take Polyjuice every time I leave the house. Until it's time for my next hourly dose, anyway, at which point I'm fighting my gag reflex and remembering why I don't.

I actually spend most of the day wondering if Dr. Griffith is now terrified of Andromeda Tonks, and if he's adjusted the potion. Because Bug could pretty much do target practice with that kind of projectile vomit. I refuse to spend the night next month watching my godson cry his way through dry heaves until dawn, or watching his grandmother exhaust herself taking care of him, for that matter.

"Hey, Harry," I hear Lucas saying sharply. The tone of his voice and the expression on his face are telling me that this is not the first time he's said my name. He's been trying to catch my attention.

"Yeah, sorry," I say, swiping a hand over my eyes. Man, I'm tired.

Lucas is frowning at me, which I don't really let get to me anymore. Lucas' normal facial expression is a frown, which I chalk up to the fact that he finished his Auror training around the time Sirius escaped from prison and his first years on the job were not exactly fun. They call an Auror's first real fight with a criminal his "blooding" and Lucas got his blooding from a Death Eater during the World Cup when I was fourteen. His dislike for Fudge and subsequent approval for Kingsley (and a lot of the reason I like Lucas) stems from his disgust that no one on his team was assigned to watch me during that fiasco. It was common sense, in his mind, which meant Fudge had none. (An opinion I happen to share, obviously.)

"Harry, you've been distracted all day."

I get the feeling I am being reprimanded, and I bite my tongue.

"Aurors don't have the luxury of being distracted while they're on duty," he says sharply.

True.

"This is not just disrespectful to me, it's dangerous to both of us."

Shit.

"I don't know what had your wand in a twist all day, but you'd better sort it out before you report in tomorrow night. I'm not going to be there, so your partner isn't going to cut you any slack like I did today."

I didn't even realize I was hanging my head in shame, but I snap it up and look around when his words sink in. It's twilight, and the shops are closing up. My patrol is over.

"I'm sorry, Lucas," I say softly, not meeting his eyes. I am such a jerk.

"Harry," he says in a less stern voice. "Everyone has a bad day once in a while. Even the Saviour." He smirks at that, because he doesn't think any more highly of my popularity than I do. "But you've chosen a job with a lot of responsibility. Any other job, you're allowed to have your bad day, and nothing will happen. But Aurors can get hurt that way. I'm not condemning you for it. I'm just letting you know what you've gotten yourself into."

"I can't wait for what the Trout will say about it," I mutter.

"I'm not reporting anything to Nguyen."

I finally do look at him, surprised.

"Not this time, anyway," he adds, and an actual smile appears for a moment on his stern face. "Listen, Harry, this is why Aurors work as partners. Today, I looked out for you. But I know you're not the kind of guy who wants that. You're the kind of guy who wants to be doing the looking out for. I just needed to know that you understand everything this entails."

I nod at him, and we head back to the office. We'll never need to have this conversation again, and Lucas knows it as well as I do. Say one thing for me: say I learn my lessons. I've got enough scars.

Speaking of scars, I sit down at my desk to watch my hand. I always wait until I can see that one before I'm sure that the Polyjuice has completely worn off. I make a few notes about the fight I broke up today. When I can just barely read "I will not tell lies" on the back of my hand, I can go home.

"Harry, you've got mail," Lucas says as he walks past my desk on his way out of the office. I hadn't noticed, but there it is on my desk. I pick up the two envelopes. One is from Andromeda, and I tear that one open. She promises that she was very stern with Dr. Griffith, and that he's promised to work on the potion before next month. She did tell him that the potion, ostensibly, works. Teddy did not itch, and he was able to keep the Metamorphmagy under control. If he can take it without the side effects, we may have ourselves a solution for Teddy's illness. It's good news, overall. I really do need to admit that. I'm just cranky over the reasons I didn't get much sleep.

The other is a note from Neville, inviting me out for a drink after work. I'm tired, but I'm pleased by that. I think I'm the only old classmate of his that he really talks to, apart from his fiancee. Kind of flattering that he stays in touch with me when he tends to hang out more with his coworkers at the nursery. And by Merlin, but I could use a drink or six. So I scribble off that I'll meet him in Hogsmeade (Leaky is closer, but who wants to have guy time in front of their fiancee?) at eight-thirty, and I go home to change clothes. I hate spending all day in robes, and I'll be buggered if I'll spend my evening in them.

* * *

Neville is already seated at the bar when I enter the Three Broomsticks, but I can't help the way I can scan the room before I join him. Constant Vigilance, after all. Which is why I notice something that Neville didn't, and I join him at the bar very quietly so I don't draw a certain person's attention to us.

"Did you know she was here?" I ask him, jerking my head toward her.

Neville spins around with a comical expression of surprise. "No."

"Think we should join her?"

Neville takes in the way she's frowning over the papers she's got spread over a table, a quill in her hand and her wand tucked behind her ear. "Yeah, she looks like she could use a break."

Thus decided, there's not point being quiet anymore. We get up from the bar and move to her table with a nice, loud greeting.

"Luna! What a coincidence!"

Our favourite blond looks up with a slightly confused expression. "Oh, hello, Harry. Hello, Neville. How nice to see you."

"What are you doing here, Luna?" Neville asks, while I'm craning my head to try to read all the notes spread out around her.

"Working," she says.

"This is for _The Quibbler_?" I ask, slightly awestruck at the sheer volume of stuff she's got in front of her.

"Yes. I've been interviewing some of the local businesspeople for an article I'm doing about how the Hogwarts students are thought of in the town."

Neville and I look at each other with slight shock.

"That's an awfully serious article," I blurt out.

"I suppose it is," she says in a dreamy voice. "If it's well received, I might do a second round of interviews so that I can write something about how the viewpoint changed because of the war."

This time, I'm too busy picking up my jaw to exchange looks with Neville. Granted, I don't really read _The Quibbler_, but that's because the last time I checked it was full of articles about Wrackspurts and goblin conspiracies.

"That sounds . . . Really interesting," Neville ventures.

"Yeah. What made you want to write it?" I ask, unable to help but wonder.

"Oh . . ." Her expression becomes lost, for a moment. I suppress the urge to give her a big hug and tell her things are going to be okay, despite how vulnerable she looks. Then she shrugs. "I'm really in charge of things, now, so I'm taking over the financial aspects of the magazine. Sales have been slow, and I took a look into our old sales records. They were highest when we were doing those articles about you, Harry, during the war. I know people still get upset about how political the _Daily Prophet_ is, so I thought maybe we could start taking the magazine back towards how it was then. You know, a good news source that disagreed with the established media."

I'm trying not to have a heart attack.

"I _am_ Ravenclaw," she says, sounding cross with us. Which is shocking, because I've never known Luna to be cross. "I'm perfectly intelligent enough to do it."

"We know that," Neville says, sounding scandalized.

"Yeah, who said you aren't?" I add.

I'm unprepared for her brief thunderous expression before she smoothes out her features into a smile. "No one. But I really do hope that this article does well. I know it would please Daddy."

The way she's talking about taking charge of the magazine makes me wonder if her father is getting too old to manage it.

"Well, I hope Ravenclaws know how to let loose and have a little fun," I say, and I slide out one of the vacant chairs at her table. Neville follows my lead, sinking down on her other side.

"Why?" she asks, sounding suspicious.

"Harry and I just came to have a drink or two" —_or six_, I add to myself— "and catch up on life. We were hoping you'd join us."

She perks up. "Really?"

"Of course. Very fortuitous, your being here," I say with an exaggerated amount of gravity. "So, what'll it be? First round's on me."

Luna tries to protest against the whole thing, but I bluster her into it. She admits that she doesn't know what she likes, so Neville orders some outrageously girly concoction that includes butterbeer and chocolate liqueur for her. She takes one sip of it, makes a face, and declares it to be horrible.

"Too sweet?" Neville asks.

She shakes her head, wrinkling her nose at it. "Too . . . Ugh. I don't like chocolate."

"Mead," I tell the confused bartender. "Get her a mead."

I, personally, am having a dark ale. She tasted that one and wrinkled up her nose at it just as much as at Neville's weird creation. I'm thinking she'll like the light taste of this one.

She does, and I give Neville a smug smile when she smacks her lips and says it's good. She gives me an almost stunning smile, and thanks me quite effusively for finding something she likes. Honestly, I didn't know it wasn't such a big deal, but I stammer out that it's not a problem.

"Almost thanks enough to see how much you like it," I grin when she takes a long, slow sip of her mead and then licks her lips.

"So, Harry," Neville speaks up after a minute. "Ron told me you needed this pretty bad. He wanted to come, but he's got to help Hermione with . . . something. Something weird and related to house elf ownership law. Anyway, what's up with you?"

To my surprise, I find myself spilling out the whole thing. All of it. Every detail of how insanely stressful the last four months of my life have been. How much I hate seeing the Bug in pain, how desperately I'm trying to insinuate myself into his life and be supportive, and even how grateful I am that Remus isn't here to know about this because the guilt of it would drive him straight over the edge. (And don't think I'm not experiencing my own guilt for being grateful for something like that.)

I know I'm talking too much, but I can't stop. It's not even the ale. It's just that I'm close to snapping, and I feel safe being here with two of my dearest friends in the world. I haven't told this stuff to Ron and Hermione, mostly because they already know and I don't need to. But something about spilling it all out like this is helpful. It's actually making me feel better just to say it all out loud. (Doctor, what do you _mean_ you're here for a reason?)

Neville suddenly brings up the subject that's been taboo between us the last few months. Ginny. I don't think I even knew my reasons for what I'm doing, until Neville asks me to explain myself.

"I can't ask her when things are like this with Teddy. I can't ask her to be part of all this stress. This is what my life is right now, and asking somebody to share my life should be a happy thing, not a painful thing, you know?"

"I . . . I guess."

"And Teddy doesn't really know her, because she hasn't been around much since he was a toddler. And I would feel weird about proposing to her when she doesn't even know about what's going on with Teddy's health. I shouldn't have told the two of you. I'm going to have to go to him on my knees to ask him to forgive me for talking to you about this. But if this potion works out, maybe he won't mind anymore . . ."

Then they make me tell them about the persecution Teddy has been facing. I am on my third drink at this point, not to mention exhausted, and I find myself with my face in my hands trying not to scream or cry. Luna is patting my shoulder and Neville is making rumbling noises of comfort. This is pathetic. It really is. I don't know what's gotten into me. All I know is that it feels really good to just let it out. And even better to realize that these two are sitting here with me instead of trying to escape. Times like this really do make you remember who your friends are.

After a while, I get control over myself. A quick look around confirms that we are the only ones here, and that the bartender is ignoring the hell out of us.

"Thank you, guys," I say, and feel myself blushing to the roots of my hair. Yeah, I'm the Boy Wonder, all right. Publicly embarrassing oneself is just what famous people do, right? "Thanks so much for listening to all that crap."

"We're here for you, Harry. You and Teddy. You can ask us for help anytime," Neville says seriously. "Right Luna?"

"Right," she agrees, then she giggles, which seems odd. Neville and I look at her. Her eyes are not entirely focused, and the hair pinned by her wand is really the only part of her hair still pulled back into the bun it started out in. She keeps running her hands through it, for some reason. I finally notice that it's a lot shorter than it used to be.

"You cut your hair," I say dumbly. It seems like a better thing to say than _"Luna, are you drunk?"_

"Yup," she confirms, smiling beatifically. "Rolf likes it." Then her face suddenly crumples, and she covers it with her hands.

"Luna, are you all right?"

"Yes," she mutters from behind her hands. "I just feel weird."

Neville and I share a look of deep concern. Neither of us really know what to do about this.

"Luna?" Neville finally asks. "How much mead did you have?"

"Waaaaay too much," she giggles, confirming what we already knew. "It was so _good_."

"You can look at us, you know."

"Can't," she corrects me seriously, but does not elaborate. "I hate my hair." To punctuate this, she runs her hands through it again, and flings it out away from her head. Some of it stays like that, and I quickly reach over to smooth it back down.

"Then why did you cut it?" Neville asks cautiously.

"Rolf wanted me to. I'm going to marry Rolf, you know."

"Yeah, you told us," I remind her.

"Harry," Neville hisses at me. "We can't let her go home like this. The shock would just about kill her dad."

I consider for a moment. "I'm not calling her fiancee, either."

Neville shakes his head. "No, she'd be so embarrassed."

"I'll take her home with me," I decide.

"You will?"

"I've got a couple of extra rooms. I'll let her sleep at my place and get cleaned up before she goes home."

Neville nods. "Okay. You, erm, you want help?"

He looks very alarmed by the prospect. I'm pretty alarmed by this whole thing, myself, but Luna's not exactly a giantess. I think I can handle her.

"I'm good." I stand up, and I place my hand on her shoulder. "Hey, Luna. Come on. It's time to go."

"No," she says. "I can't. I can't leave until I'm not stupid anymore."

"I'm going to take you to my house, okay?" I say, holding on to her. "You'll be okay at my house."

I look around at our table, and quickly use my wand to gather all of Luna's papers up. She must have put some kind of charm on them when we all sat down, because they're still very tidy despite the number of glasses dotted among them. Smart girl. Right, Ravenclaw, goes without saying. Then I decide that since the night's disaster is pretty much my fault, I'll just take care of the tab, so I use my wand to send some money over to the bartender, who is still ignoring the hell out of us and almost gets smacked in the head by the money.

"Thanks," I call out to him, then I hoist Luna to her feet and escort her outside. She leans very heavily on me, and I've got my arm around her so she can't fall. She is definitely not capable of staying upright on her own. Neville follows us outside, and tells me to leave before he leaves. "Goodnight," I say to him. "And thanks," I add, before I start my Disapparition turn (which very nearly makes Luna fall) and go home.

As I escort Luna into the house and up the stairs to the bedrooms, I'm cringing. I'm hoping the bartender is a nice guy. Because if he's not, tomorrow's newspaper is going to suck for all three of us. And Andromeda and Hermione will both be really angry with me. Not to mention the call I'm likely to get from Rolf Scamander about what I'm getting his fiancee into. And how mad Bug will be that I spilled all his secrets.

Luna moans miserably, and I tell my worries to bugger off. She's more important at the moment.

"Luna, I thought you were too smart to accidentally drink too much," I tease her.

"It wasn't an accident."

"What?"

Her face is focused on something that is not me, even when I try to turn her head my direction.

"It made me stop thinking, and that feels so nice."

"What were you thinking about?" I ask, feeling this is something that ought to concern me. Why would Luna _want_ to get drunk?

"I can't bother you with that," she protests. I'm actually sort of impressed that she still has enough presence of mind to do so.

"Luna," I say, as seriously as I know how. Because I'm starting to realize that Luna never talks about anything unpleasant. She's never told me about a problem of hers, unless she insisted it wasn't a problem. I seem to recall her telling me, when we were in school, that the other students stole her stuff and then telling me not to worry about it. "Luna, I'm your friend. You've just as much right to tell me about your life as I have to tell you about mine. Because I feel the same way you do. If there's something that's hurting you, I would want to help, if I could. And if I couldn't, I'd still want you to tell me."

"But nobody likes me that much," she says in surprise.

A wave of sheer anger crashes over me. All right, when I was fifteen, I was very concerned about image at my school, and I didn't actually try to make Luna my best friend. But the idea that my distant friendship was the best she got is just _pathetic_. Now that we're older and I stopped giving a shit, we've become really good friends, or so I thought. She's one of the best people I know, and realizing that she doesn't _know _I think of her that highly . . .

"I do," I tell her roughly, pulling her into a hug. "You're a very good friend of mine, Luna. You need to tell me if you ever have a problem, okay?"

"I really can?" she asks dreamily, clinging to me because she is absolutely incapable of keeping her balance.

"Yes."

"I think Daddy is dying," she says, her head resting on my shoulder. "And I don't want to marry Rolf, but I have to marry him anyway. Both things are very upsetting. But I liked that mead a lot, because I kept drinking it and it all started to go away . . ."

While I am busy trying to process what she's telling me, she's beginning to breathe very heavily. This should worry me, but I'm too busy trying to wrap my mind around the fact that she wasn't going to tell anyone that her father is dying. Suddenly she groans, and slips out of my arms to sink down to her hands and knees.

"Why did you spell your house to spin like this?" she whimpers. Then she vomits on my shoes.

I still want to talk to her, but it's going to have to wait. I haul her upright to drag her into the bathroom, and steel myself for Night of Watching A Loved One Puke #2.


	7. Chapter 7

_**A/N:** *cringes* I am a bad, bad Faren. I honestly didn't realise how long it had been since I updated. I am sorry. This chapter had me stumped for the longest time, and I finally cut it off a bit earlier than intended so I could give it to you. My only defense for the length of time since updating is that I am working on 2 other stories at the same time I'm working on this one. I had ideas that wouldn't go away, so I had to start writing them. I may share them with you lot soon._

* * *

Chapter Seven

It Can Happen to the Best of Us

When I first realize I am awake, I am afraid to open my eyes or move. I can feel that I will be in pain. My body is stiff, and something is telling me that my neck is going to start a riot if I force it to move. I chance it, and open my eyes. The first thing I see is my showerhead, and I think I'd better ask if Arthur will help me change it because the mineral buildup is getting bad. Then it occurs to me to wonder why I'm sleeping in a bathtub.

My stomach lurches, because I'm getting a flashback of a moment of deep panic. Ron and I don't talk about that night we got drunk together, back when I decided to cut loose and live a little after the final battle—because we don't remember most of it. All I know is we started out in the kitchen of my house with several bottles of various alcohol, and we woke up the next morning in my bathroom (him on the floor and me in the bathtub), lacking certain key pieces of clothing with the vague understanding that we had left the house at some point. I was very quietly scared out of my mind for nine months that some witch was going to turn up with my shirt and my kid. Then Ginny and Hermione went swimming in the pond near the Burrow and found Ron's socks. The way we reckon it, we must have been drunk enough to think swimming in November was a brilliant idea, then somehow decided upon returning to my house that we should sleep in the bathroom. It was probably a good idea, considering how much we threw up.

Right now, I carefully flick my eyes about, and discover that I am not in the bathtub. I'm sitting on the floor, leaning against it. Why would I be doing that? I don't think I was all that drunk last night—

Last night! Luna!

I surge to my feet, because the last time I saw her she was laying in front of the toilet groaning, and she's certainly not there now. I cry out at the stiffness I feel (What? I'm not a teenager anymore, okay?), and grab hold of my neck as I stumble down the stairs. Lucky for me that my glasses didn't slip off while I was asleep, or I'd be _falling_ down the stairs.

I hear a noise in the kitchen, two voices talking. I lurch that way.

"Luna?"

I blink at what I'm seeing. Luna is showered and dressed (must have used the other bathroom) in one of my button-downs and the skirt she was wearing last night, and she is standing at the stove with her hands on her hips, giving my house-elf a suspicious look. Kreacher is glaring right back, holding a teakettle. The sheer domesticity of this catches me off my guard. Luna is in my shirt, cooking breakfast at my stove, arguing with my house elf. Replace the blond hair with red, and I've seen this exact scene more than once before. Well, and transfigure some of the curviness into muscle, and make her shorter, and make her— make her _not Luna_! Merlin, what is wrong with me? I see a girl wearing my clothes and suddenly I'm thinking about her without them? (Pervert is such a strong word, doctor . . .)

I clear my throat and try for a nonchalant stroll into the room. "Good morning." It would sound more convincing if I didn't sound like I'd been swallowing dragon scales, probably. But I'm blaming that on my late night and sleeping on my bathroom floor. "You're looking remarkably well, Luna."

She gives me her patented closed-lipped smile. "I feel well."

"I'm amazed. I thought you'd be huddled under a blanket begging someone to make the hippogriffs stop kicking your skull."

She tips her head to the side and looks puzzled, then shrugs and turns back to the stove. "I'm making eggs and toast. I hope you don't mind."

"Not at all," I reply, baffled by the idea that Luna cooks anything. I guess I always thought of her as somewhat lacking in practical knowledge, what with her eccentricities.

"I was going to make you coffee, but your, um, he didn't say his name, he says you don't drink coffee. He insists that he will make the master tea, and that I am trying to usurp him."

I can't help but laugh. Poor Luna, trying to argue with my demented house-elf who's so suspicious that I'm trying to retire him. "His name is Kreacher," I chuckle. "Thank you, Kreacher. I could definitely use a cup of tea." Still remembering the brief conversation I had with Luna on the staircase last night, I turn so I can smile at her and remind her that she's important. "And thank you for thinking of me. Eggs smell great."

I'm shocked by this entire turn of events, really. I expected her to be epically hung over, and instead she's up a good hour before me and making food? I'd love to see how long her 24-hour flu lasts.

"I don't really ever get sick," she says.

For a moment, I have no idea why she said it, then I realize I must have been thinking out loud.

"Really? Never?"

She shrugs. "I suppose I'm blessed."

She doesn't sound too convinced of her blessings, and I remember that she is going through a very hard time right now. I wonder if I should wait until after breakfast to bring that up again. Because obviously I'm not going to leave it where it ended last night. I want to know what's going on with her father, and what's going on with Scamander. I think about my own preferences in cases like these, and decide that such conversations are always better on a full stomach. And Luna's stomach has got to be particularly empty this morning. I'm trying not to smirk at that idea, but it's hard. (Oh, I _have_ sympathy, doctor—it's still funny.)

But, of course, one cannot predict things around Luna Lovegood. She holds the pan over two plates, dividing the eggs equally, and says, "Did you really mean it, that you want me to tell you when things are bothering me?"

"Of course!" I exclaim, and take the pan away so I can set it in the sink and lead her to a seat at the table. I don't know where I picked up the idea, but I have this vague idea that you should pamper girls a little bit when they're upset and need to talk. "If you're hungry, you can eat first, and I'll still be here when you're ready."

She gives the plate a sort of mournful look, then looks back at me. Her eyes, normally so luminescent, are sparkling with tears. Luna, crying?

"I think I have to talk now, or I won't want to later."

"Okay," I reply calmly, wishing I could eat the eggs without looking like a real wanker. I really am hungry.

"But why?" she says, seeming genuinely confused. "Why would I tell you all of it, when you can't do anything to help? What is the purpose of doing it, in that case?"

I think for a moment. I knew last night that Neville and Luna aren't Healers, nor Aurors, and they can't help me with any part of the situation with Bug. But I still spilled my guts, and felt the better for it.

"It's nice to know that someone cares enough to listen. And that you have someone you can trust with what you have to say. And who knows? Maybe there is something I can do for you, Luna. What's the point in being Harry Potter if I can't help anyone?"

That makes her laugh, surprisingly. "It's just your name," she says. "It would be your name if you hadn't been famous, you know."

I can't say what it is about her statement that touches me so much, but I scoot my chair around the table to put my arm around her shoulders. "Thanks," I mutter, not even sure what I'm thanking her for.

She's sort of frozen beneath my arm. She doesn't get many casual hugs like this, I'll bet. Somehow, I don't see her and Rolf being the most touchy-feely of couples.

But I leave my arm where it is. "Talk to me, Luna. I promise, you'll feel better."

I need to get over to the Tonks house to check on them and to apologize to Teddy, and I have to report in for work at four. But I am resolved, now. However long Luna needs is how long she's going to get. I'll call in sick if I have to. If I find out that I need to do something for her father, if I need to help her pick a honeymoon destination—whatever it is, I'm going to do it. Luna is not going to doubt that she has friends, not anymore.

She breaks down, and starts talking. I'm surprised by how much spills out. "I don't want to put Daddy into long-term care, but his heart isn't very strong anymore. Nothing about him is strong. He needs a lot of help, and I've been managing it as best I can, but . . . But I'm not very good at it!" she suddenly wails, burying her face in her hands. I tighten my arm around her, but I'm thinking that opening my mouth would probably just make her stop talking. (Maybe I _am_ getting smarter as I get older.) "I don't have much time for him, and he needs so much, and he's gotten so forgetful. I can't bear it when I help him and he says 'Thank you, Allegra dear,' because I can't bring myself to tell him it's me!"

Oh, damn, I'm going to have to open my mouth for at least a second. "Who's Allegra?"

"My mother," she says, sounding miserable. It's a surprisingly pretty name, for someone's mum, and I find myself wishing I knew more about her. "I honestly don't know if it's his memory or his eyesight that's gotten so bad. Some of both, I think, but he won't admit anything's wrong with either of them. I know his heart's bad, because he's got to take medicine for it, but it seems like he's gotten so old just in the past year and he doesn't want to believe it. I've tried to talk to him, but he's very stubborn. I think he doesn't want to leave the house, because he and Mother lived there together."

Luna sighs deeply, and wipes her fingers under her eyes to catch a few stray tears. She straightens her shoulders a bit. "Rolf says Daddy's mind is going quickly, and I need to be the one to make the decision. But I can't do that to Daddy, no matter what Rolf says."

"You are the one who knows him best," I say to her soothingly. I have no real practical advice on this topic, even though my heart breaks for her, so I just have to do my best, here. "So you need to do what you think is right. If that means that you want your dad to make the decision, then you can tell Rolf that."

This was meant to be bracing and encouraging, but my attempt has obviously fallen flat. It just makes her look tired. I think I might have just hit upon her second problem.

"You have told him, eh? You guys are fighting about this?"

"Not fighting, exactly . . . But we don't agree."

And I think I smell a fish. Is Rolf trying to get rid of Mr. Lovegood or something?

"Are you upset with him?" I ask as a prompt. "Is that why you said that last night, about not wanting to marry him?"

I'm shocked when she blushes and looks away from me. This isn't like the Luna I know.

"No, that's . . . never mind about that."

I want to let it go, because it's obvious how desperately she wants me to. But I can't. Not like this. "Luna. I can't remember ever seeing you cry before, you know that? And now you're blushing, and I don't think I've ever seen you embarrassed, either. Something's really wrong, here. Isn't it?"

"No," she says, sort of violently. "Rolf and I are going to be married, we're nearly married already. What's wrong with that?"

"Luna, I heard you say," I try to begin, feeling maybe just a little bit incredulous at this quick turnaround from confessing to close-mouthed, but she's cutting me off before I can get going.

"I hardly think our relationship is your concern, Harry. I don't pry into things between you and Ginny, do I?" "And now I've seen you nasty," I murmur, ignoring the fact that her sharp comment has actually gotten under my abnormally thick skin and stung me. "Luna, please."

"It's between Rolf and I, that's all," she says, making a visible effort to tone it down.

It's a little too late, and I'm certainly not buying it. I don't know what the problem is, though. I think I'm finally beginning to learn not to fly off the handle when I'm upset, and I make a conscious decision to stop and think about this. She's crying, she's embarrassed, she's defensive. I have noticed that Rolf seems to get away with throwing his weight around in her life a hell of a lot. So, she must be refusing to talk to me because . . .

"Oh, _Merlin_. Is this a sex thing?"

I'm surprised her face hasn't caught on fire, nor mine, for that matter.

"It _is_, isn't it? Shit, I'm sorry, I won't pry . . ."

I trail off right there because rather than looking slightly mollified by my apology, she looks even more miserable and defensive.

"Luna?"

"I don't like sex!" she blurts out.

I don't think I'll ever be anywhere near the skill level of my former professor, but McGonagall's galloping desks come to mind and I think I could pull it off. I could animate my chair and get out of this house, and maybe I could just take a Portkey to France or something and stay out of town until I feel like I can meet Luna's eyes again. Like next century, maybe. _How_ did I get here, and how the hell do I get out of it?

While I'm busy trying to answer this question, Luna is apparently coming to believe that my mortified silence is permission to speak further. I should stop her. I really should.

"I didn't want to do it anyway," she whispers. "I wanted to wait until we were married. But Rolf said that since we'd declared our intention, it was the same thing, and there was no reason we shouldn't. I thought it made sense, that the ceremony was more of a formality, but now I feel confused. I don't remember if I agreed to it or not."

Wait. What?

"And I just don't like it at all," she says, hanging her head and letting her hair fall in her face. "It hurts. He didn't tell me it would hurt."

I feel something like a fish that's been landed on the shore. Unable to breathe but moving my gills with desperation, staring wildly at nothing at all. The nearest approximation I can find to a response to Luna is, "He probably didn't know it was your first time. Didn't you know it would hurt the first time?"

Luna looks up at me in shock. "Just the first?"

"Yeah, after that it gets easier . . . I hear . . ." I say lamely. I should be doing something comforting. But _really_, can't she talk to Ginny or Hannah or _anybody who's a girl_ about this? I know she grew up without a mother to explain this to her, and I sympathize, I really do, but I cannot _be here_. Oh. Except how I said I would listen to anything she had to say, because we're friends. And I think I'm the only one who's ever said such a thing to her. Why didn't I think about this possibility before I made the offer?

"But it . . . It didn't get easier," she whispers, and I think she might be crying again. "It always hurts. I thought it was supposed to."

Okay, _now_ I'm listening.

* * *

My kitchen has seen some really, really strange things over the years. Crazy things, even. It's housed some of the biggest names in recent wizarding history, including me. When my house elf serves me in here, I still sometimes get nauseated because it reminds me of the meals he cooked when Ron and Hermione and I were in hiding and thought we could be dead in another week. Fred and George tested out their status as adult wizards in this house, and I can still see the scar in the wood on the table from when they nearly spilled dinner. There's a chair I never sit in because I can still clearly picture Sirius in that chair, tilting it back onto two legs, a bottle of Firewhiskey in his hand and a sparkle in his eye while he teases me. We planned a war in this room.

And now . . . now my kitchen has done its magic again. Kept us feeling safe for one more hour while things are terrible outside the door. Luna probably doesn't want me to touch her right now, but I wish I could hold her. The worst part is that I don't think she even knows the implications of the things she's told me.

"_I told him no, but he said engaged and married was only semantics and I was being too prudish. He was so insistent . . ."_

"_He says it's more fun for him, that it hurts me. He says I'll learn to like it that way . . ."_

"_I tried asking him if we could take a break, but since we're supposed to be married so soon, he said it was pointless. I'm not sure he really respects me, anyway . . ."_

"_He has a lot of good ideas, but The Quibbler still belongs to Daddy, doesn't it? Even if we get married, he'd have to listen to what Daddy wanted . . . But if Daddy doesn't—doesn't last . . ."_

So. Here in this kitchen (a room that I suspect will become a wizarding landmark if I don't tear the house down someday), I've just found out that my friend is in an abusive relationship with a controlling asshole who thinks she's too stupid to make her own decisions.

"You can't marry him, Luna."

"Why?"

"Haven't you been listening to yourself? This isn't right."

"Are you sure? I thought maybe . . ."

"Shit, Luna, you thought I treat Ginny that way or something? You know she'd cut my stones off if I did that, like I'd even _want_ to, I mean, that's just . . ."

"I just thought it was the way things would be for _me_."

That shuts me up, in a big way.

"I know I'm not very pretty," she says, sounding angry. "And I know I make people uncomfortable. I'm not . . . I'm not . . . I don't know! I just know that Rolf is the only person who'd even want to marry me, whether he disrespects me or just wants me to have children, or whatever it is he's after. He's the only person who's ever going to want me, and I don't want to miss out on what everyone else has. I don't mind being alone, I guess, but I . . . I don't like being _different_ as much as I used to."

That statement hits me like a sack of bricks. I'm not sure whether I want to throw up or punch something, although I'm leaning toward punching the whole world for her. Suddenly I don't give a shit if touching her might seem physically threatening. I'm going to hug my friend. She's leaning over the table, and I stand behind her and put my arms around her, and she suddenly twists around so she can return the favour, and she doesn't say another word. She just sits there, holding me as tightly as I'm holding her. Suddenly, I feel better. There is action I need to take, here. Something tangible I can do.

"Luna, you are not going to marry this man. I understand how you feel, but I absolutely will not allow you to put yourself into a situation like that. Do you understand what's going on, with Rolf?" I don't think she does. So I just tell her. "You are in an abusive relationship with a controlling asshole who thinks you're too stupid to make your own decisions. You really think you can stand being _married_ to him?"

"Abusive?" she repeats, like she didn't know. She _had_ to know.

"Even if he'd never done a thing to you, physically, he's still an overbearing blowhard who's been jerking you around with your emotions like he's a professional at it."

"But he's not a bad person," she says, sounding tired. "Really, he isn't. I don't think he does it on purpose. If I talk to him, I could—"

"No."

She lifts her face and glares at me.

"I know that you're a brave and intelligent person, Luna. I know that better than anyone. But you're just too close to this to see it for what it is. No. You don't go near him, not ever again. I don't care what kind of person you think he is, he has treated you _terribly_. Just . . . Just—no."

"What am I supposed to do? Just tell him I don't want to marry him anymore?"

"Yes. That's exactly what you tell him. And you do it by letter, because I don't want you to ever have to see him in the flesh again."

"But he's my fiance, I can't just . . ."

"No," I say again, very firmly. I don't know why I'm being so firm on this, honestly. It's just that I've never really known Luna to be confused. And if this guy makes her confused, I can see her trying to break things off and ending up letting him hurt her some more. And that has me seeing red. The whole thing has me seeing red. Mr. Calm Fucking Wisdom has been _hurting_ her. I think the reason I'm holding on to the girl so tightly is because I'm going to walk out this door and go murder him if I let her go. I want to kill him. Rip him limb from limb. I haven't experienced a feeling of needing to kill someone like this since . . . Well, let's just say there has only ever been one person in existence who I needed to kill as badly as I need to kill Rolf Scamander. And I _did_ kill that other person.

"But I have to go home at some point," she says at last, sounding a little bit amused. Her face is still sort of pressed into my stomach.

"Does he know where your house is?"

"Well, yes, of course—"

"Then you're not going home."

"I have to," she says, stiffening up and pulling away from me. "I can't just leave Daddy there!"

Oh, bother. Forgot about that. Fine.

"Then I'm coming with you."

"What?" she blinks.

"I'm going to stay with you for a couple of days. Until we can get this sorted out." (Translation: until I can get an official statement from her so I can arrest this bastard.) "I am not going to leave you alone with this guy, Luna."

(Yes, I'm just as surprised by the words that are coming out of my mouth as you are. I said I'm going to do what, now?)

"Harry, this is not necessary—"

"The hell it's not. It's not about whether or not it's necessary anyway."

"Then what is it about?" she frowns, ready to argue.

"It's about taking care of you!" I snap. Seriously, what's wrong with me? Why am I getting mad at her, when it's Scamander I'm mad at? "You're going through a hard time, and you need someone, and I'm here. And I don't want Scamander in your house, so I'll sit in the doorframe and wait for him with my wand drawn if I have to!"

"You're being very fierce about this, you know," she says, suddenly sounding like the Luna I know. I'm not sure why.

"I'm always like this when it comes to people hurting my friends," I respond.

"I know," she says, almost smiling again.

Please don't tell me that seeing me ranting like a lunatic is making her feel better. (You say "yes" like this is my normal state of being or something, doctor.)

I hear a noise that sounds suspiciously like the alarm on my dryer, and Luna's face brightens.

"My laundry is finished," she declares. "My robes are clean, so I'll be going now."

"Kreacher!" I shout, and he appears instantly. "Don't let her in the laundry room, Kreacher."

The elf nods, with a vicious smile. Revenge for the breakfast argument, I can see it in his eyes. I think I love him. Luna is giving me a rather put-upon look.

"You're waiting for me, because I am escorting you home," I tell her very seriously. Then I run upstairs, grab some clothes without looking to see what they are, and run back downstairs, panting for breath. Two minutes has to be a record for this. "Now you can get your robes."

She does retrieve them, and apparently she leaves my shirt in the laundry room, because she comes back wearing her own shirt again.

"Why are you bringing your clothes?"

"Because I'm going to be sleeping at your house," I tell her with complete conviction. There is going to be no argument, here. She's just going to have to deal with it.

* * *

It took a lot of thought before I decided to go to work. I'd have liked to play hooky and keep an eye on Luna, but I have this feeling. Between this situation and Teddy's, I had better stock up my time off for when I absolutely need it. Thus, I leave her house at 3:45 pm and go to work, expecting to be back just after midnight. Her father was napping the whole time I was there, so I have until tomorrow to come up with a good explanation of my presence. Because Luna's pretty insistent that Mr. Lovegood doesn't need to know the particulars of what's going on with Rolf, and I'll have to come up with something.

I still have to speak to Teddy, not to mention check on how he's feeling, but it will have to wait for my day off tomorrow. At this point, I don't really think about the possibility of not telling him what I've done. Bug and I are as honest with each other as we can be, even if that might seem a little strange to everyone else. I think it's just because I feel like a child, myself, and I'm not ready to start feeding him lines like "Because I said so." Trying to pretend that Neville and Luna don't know he's got some convoluted version of lycanthropy . . . that's just not how he and I work.

So I fret about it for my whole shift, which thankfully is extremely quiet. I'm on the emergency call team tonight. It's a great shift to have; we just do paperwork and sit around bullshitting unless we actually get something through the lines. We do get a call around ten o'clock, but it's a dotty old lady who thought her wellies were attacking her cat, and we're back at the office snickering our way through the report by a quarter after. Except Alicia, whose shift was just ending and who decided to stay and calm Mrs. Huckabee down with a cup of tea. Alicia's the sort of kind soul who ought to be working in the long-term ward of St. Mungo's, using her soft voice and concerned nature to help patients, but she's got this weird drive about her that led her to join the Aurors instead.

Finally, it's midnight, and I nearly bolt out of the office to get back to the Lovegood's place. Luna called Rolf, instead of writing him, and I stayed in the next room while she did it, but I heard some of the conversation and it wasn't very pleasant. She was quite firm about it being over between them, and he'd just been stunned into silence. I've been getting a bad feeling over the last hour of my shift that the whole thing went too easily, and I'm afraid of what I'm going to find.

Nothing, apparently. I scoot out of the fireplace and find the house quiet. Mr. Lovegood and Luna are both in bed, and my concerns are, as per usual, unfounded. Nothing wrong with a healthy dose of paranoia, though. (Just because my paranoia is a war relic doesn't mean someone _isn't_ out to get me, doctor.) So I slip into a pair of shorts and a clean undershirt and curl up under the throw blanket on the sofa in the sitting room. I'd be sleeping on her floor if I wasn't afraid of having to explain myself to her father. I also hate sleeping with a shirt on, but that's one I don't want to explain to Luna _or_ her father.

I drift off, pleasantly surprised by the coziness of the sofa. I don't know how long I sleep or how long I hear the noise before I finally realise that I _am_ hearing something and drag myself into wakefulness. I'm hearing . . . howling? Snuffling? Is there some kind of animal outside?

Clutching the blanket around my shoulders and keeping my wand in the pocket of my shorts, I head for the front door to investigate the source of the sound. Just before I let go of the blanket to pull my wand and open the door, I rouse enough for the sound to resolve itself. It's a person. Making howling and snuffling noises just outside. Basically lost in the throes of mourning, it sounds like.

"Harry?"

I spin around upon hearing my name. It's Luna, with a blue robe wrapped around her waist, standing lightly at the foot of the stairs, her eyes wide and her short hair in disarray.

"_Whhhyyyy_?" moans the sobbing person outside.

"Oh, good grief," I growl and yank open the door.

And there's the bastard I was waiting for. A specimen of dignity, I assure you, with bloodshot eyes and a bottle of something alcoholic loosely hanging from his grip and a bit of drool in his beard. He's sort of using the door to keep himself upright, so he falls over when I open the door. I make a mighty effort and resist the urge to kick him in the head. He looks up at me as best he can, through a professionally academic hairdo gone awry (and doubtless some blurred vision), but I sort of doubt he knows it's me.

"I wanna see Luna," he tells me, struggling upright. "She can't leave me. I need her."

"No," I tell him, and make to close the door.

"_Lunaaaaa_!" He starts in with the howling again.

I crouch down and give him a nice, eye-to-eye murderous glare. "She doesn't want to see you. Go away. I'm asking nicely because I don't want to be in the morning paper. If you don't leave now, I'll suck it up and add the headline to my collection."

"But we're getting married," Rolf moans at me. "I just wanna talk to her. I don't unnerstand wha'ss wrong."

"What's wrong is you're an arsehole," I inform him, and shut the door.

"Luna," he starts in again, still crying. "I want my Luna."

Luna steps up to the door.

"Don't you dare," I tell her.

She puts her hand on the knob and gives me a challenging look.

"But . . . You can't . . . he's got _snot_ on him," I say with desperation.

She opens the door.

"Luna," Rolf says, stumbling to his feet. "Luna, le'ss talk. I should change. I know. I will. Okay? I love you, and I wanna marry you. I'll do anything. Please. I do respect you. I do."

Luna's eyes are so sad as she passes them over the wreck of a man in front of her. "But I don't respect you," she says, very softly. "Now go away, Rolf. I don't want to see you anymore." She shuts the door and turns to me. "I can't lock it," she whispers, her lip trembling. "You lock it, Harry."

I do, as fast as I possibly can, then I put an arm around her and lead her away from the door.

"Luna, I was going to talk to you tomorrow about the possibility of pressing charges, but . . . Well, if I arrest him right now for trespassing and making trouble and everything, and if you come down and add the domestic violence charge, I can keep him in a cell for a good long time. I'd probably have to let him go in the morning, otherwise."

She shakes her head, so hard that her hair hits me. "No, no, that's not a good idea."

"What do you mean?"

"I'm not charging him with anything. I don't want to do that, I don't want anyone to know about this."

"Luna, this is—" I stop, and take her by the shoulders, and turn her so that I can look right at her. "This is not your fault, and you do _not_ have anything to be ashamed of." Thank the powers that Aurors get a course in domestic violence issues, or I'd be at a complete loss. I'm basically just quoting the sensitivity portion of our handbook. "You have every right to charge him for rape and abuse, and you don't have to hide it. No one is going to take advantage of you over this, not over my dead body." (Okay, that part didn't come from the handbook.)

"I know," she says. "But I don't want to. I'd have to go to the Ministry and make a formal statement, and there would be an inquiry and paperwork and . . . I can't put Daddy through that. I'm not going to do it, Harry."

I've got my mouth open to argue. I get as far as, "But Luna."

"That's final, Harry."

Damn, she does know how to be authoritative when she wants to. Maybe I can talk some sense into her in the morning. On that note, I lead her upstairs, and I sort of tuck her into bed. I don't mean to treat her like she's a child, but she looks so hurt and worried that I can't help it. I can't leave until she assures me that she's all right, then I go back downstairs.

Scamander is still out there. I can hear him. He's not talking anymore, just being a nuisance. I unlock the door, which gives him time to find his feet again before I can open it. He faces me with a scowl (and by golly is it intimidating on this pathetic slob, I'm shaking in my sho. . . oh, wait, I'm not wearing shoes).

"Already moved on, has she?" he slurs. "Got herself a new man in her life. Tha'ss what this is all about."

"I'm here," I growl through my clenched teeth, "just because I thought you might show up. I'm her friend, and that's all you need to know. Now get lost."

"Must be some kind of record for time. I hear rebound relations—relation-sips are all about sex. You like what I showed her to do, don't you?"

I don't even consider my wand. I grab him by the shirt and yank him toward me, and I'm shocked by the strength I seem to possess. I don't even think about the words that are spilling out of my mouth.

"Luna is a good person, and the only thing she's ever done that she needs to be ashamed of is getting attached to you. You do anything to impugn her honour, and you'll be facing me. Not just me, but everything that being Harry Potter can mean. You don't want to start something with me, because I will win. Got that? I am a Ministry Auror, and I am goddamn Harry Potter. I will fucking destroy you, Scamander."

I toss him away from me, and the git finally takes himself off for the night. I curl up on the sofa again, and I feel a lot better. I think I enjoy threatening people.

* * *

In the end, my conversation with Bug is a lot easier than the next conversation with Luna. Bug is a forgiving sort, all in all, especially concerning me. (And if you don't think that scares me . . . The responsibility for not hurting him is totally on me, since he'd forgive me for poisoning him.) The only thing left still simmering in my mind, after I take him into my lap and we embrace to seal the deal on my apology, is Ginny. Spilling my guts to Neville and Luna was an accident, and now I've used that one up. I can't "accidentally" tell Ginny and then apologize. Again, I know Bug would forgive me, but I sure as hell wouldn't forgive myself, not for taking advantage of him like that.

So, Bug and I are okay with each other pretty quickly, and I head back to the Lovegoods, wondering why the universe couldn't have engineered Ginny's presence at the Three Broomsticks the other night. I then try to convince Luna to press charges against Scamander, and there are distinctly fewer hugs and less cuteness in that conversation. (The answer's still no, obviously.)

Luna puts a halt to my arguing by going into her office to work on her magazine article, and I wonder if I should go home. I decide to stay for one more night, just in case, and I end up spending the afternoon with Mr. Lovegood. Luna's right, he's gone decidedly barmy.

"So you're staying here with us, are you, young man?" he asks me, fiddling with a twisted structure of wire and cords and dials that he informs me is meant to alert us of Wrackspurts in the area.

"Yes, sir. Er, you remember me, don't you? Harry Potter?"

"Harry Potter?" he grunts. "Remember him, sure. He and a load of Death Eaters blew up my house and ruined my work on Ravenclaw's diadem. He was a good friend to my Luna, though, so I forgave him for that. See here, what's your name, lad?"

I sigh, realising the trouble Luna's having with him. This is, in fact, when Luna comes out of her office to put a cup of tea each in front of Mr. Lovegood and I.

"How is the detection device coming along?" she asks.

"Very fiddly, I'm afraid," Mr. Lovegood says, and picks up his cup in hands that tremble a bit, inhaling the steam. "Ah, this is wonderful, Allegra love."

Luna keeps smiling her same slightly misty smile, but I see the way her eyes squint, like she's flinching inside.

"Mr. Lovegood?" I say, taking matters into my own hands. (Yes, I _had_ noticed how often I've been doing that where Luna's concerned.) "You know that this is Luna, don't you? Your daughter?"

He gives me a slightly disgusted look. "Well, of course I do," he snaps. "Now, then, I've got quite a bit of work to do here, if you don't mind." He reverts his attention to the tangle of wires, and I shrug at Luna.

"Sorry."

"It's quite all right," she murmurs. "Most people need to see things for themselves, I find, before they really understand it. Belief is pretty rare, isn't it?"

I'm not sure whether she meant it the way it sounded, but . . ._ burn._ I remind myself that Scamander is the one who doesn't believe in her, not me. I decide to be kinder to Mr. Lovegood than I've ever been to anyone and to pretend that nothing is wrong with him, because I feel like it will be easier for her, for now. I pass him spare parts and encourage him in his construction, and I cook dinner (don't get too excited, spaghetti's pretty easy) so Luna doesn't have to. I have work in the morning, so I turn in at a decent hour, worried because Luna is still working in the office when I lie down on the sofa.

Scamander shows up again, less drunk but even more pleading. Rather than try to deal with him, I hit him with a tongue twisting jinx and let him make nonsensical noises on the porch to his heart's delight. But I hear Luna creep out of the office to sit by the door and fret half the night. Something is going to need to be done about this guy. If Luna refuses to involve my office . . . we'll just have to do things privately.

* * *

I don't tell him everything. I basically just tell him we've got to get rid of Scamander, and he shouldn't ask why. He accepts this. I wish I could bring Ron into this, but he's still in the training programme, and he can't afford the trouble if he gets caught playing vigilante. I think it's a mark of how much Ron's matured that he understands what I'm saying and doesn't get his feelings hurt about being left out. He and Hermione are prepared for us to come by if we happen to need a minor healing charm or something, though.

When Scamander shows up the next night, Neville and I are waiting for him.


	8. Chapter 8

Chapter Eight

Under the Influence

There's a gardening shed behind the Lovegood's house, but I think I would be more surprised to find gardening tools in it than I would be to find just about anything else. This is not to say they don't love the outdoors, because Luna and her dad are both amateur naturalists, but . . . Neat, orderly rows of plants, done with a spade and packets of seeds and a gardening hose? The Lovegoods? Not likely.

In fact, once I get past the choking dust, there's not much in the shed at all. A tangle made up of wires and tubes such as the ones Mr. Lovegood was using for his "Wrackspurt Detector" sits in one corner. There's a chair with a spring poking out of the seat and a truly ugly doily hanging from it like a flag. I puzzle over this for a moment, then decide that the doily was covering a hole, and the spring popped out later. I think I recognize the doily as a gift from Ron and Ginny's Auntie Muriel—blargh. She must have given one to all the Weasley's neighbours at some point.

The wires and the chair are basically it, except a few things that do look suspiciously like gardening tools, covered by a sheet. It's perfect, I decide, and shut the door again without latching it. I'll be back later.

* * *

That night, I go to the door as soon as I hear footsteps approaching the house. I already told Luna what was going to happen tonight, and I asked her very politely if she wanted to be there. She declined, happily enough for me. No spells barred, then. Neville is kind of nervous about this, but he knows that we're doing this for Luna, so he's not backing down. He's right behind me when I slip outside, and he shuts the door in near silence.

We each grab one of Scamander's arms, and start tugging him around back.

"Wait a minute," he protests. "What do you think you're doing?"

His voice rings out clearly in the very quiet night. That's odd, isn't it?

"Excuse me, but I'd like to talk to my fiancee!" he says, trying to pull himself away from us.

Oh, crap. He's sober.

"She's not your fiancee," I inform him, wondering how he could have missed that important fact, then I kick open the door of the shed. I suppose I could open it using the handle, like a civilized person, but kicking is easier when you're keeping a large blond man from getting out of your grip—and we've discarded civility for the night.

As we discussed a bit earlier today, Neville does the shoving while I do the locking of the door. Neville's a pretty big fellow—honestly, I'm starting to think about taking up Herbology, all that wrestling with plants seems to work wonders—and he basically just tosses Scamander into the dusty chair without any trouble. I use my hard-earned skills in anti-detection and silencing to make certain that we are not going to be interrupted.

"Okay, scumbag," Neville says in an ugly voice, reaching out and plucking Scamander's wand from him. "This is pretty simple: you're going to sit there and listen to us for a minute. Got it?"

Yeah, Neville gets to be bad cop (although this is mostly because good cop is supposed to do the talking, and that has to be my job). This actually might be fun.

"How about you listen for a minute?" Scamander rages. Neville circles behind the chair and clamps his hands on Scamander's shoulders, holding him in place.

I turn around, finished with my work, and shrug. "Fine. We'll humour you. What do you have to say for yourself, Scamander?"

"Why should I have anything to say to you?" he says, with something that looks a bit too much like a smirk for my liking. But Neville's the bad cop, here. I flick my eyes to him for a second, and he gets the message.

"Wipe that smile off your face," he growls, tightening his fingers into Scamander's shoulders. It's passable. Not great, but passable. I doubt Scamander is particularly well-versed in Auror techniques, anyway.

"Good question." I'm using a voice that sounds nice and cheerful, like I'm enjoying this. "Maybe because we've locked you into a small room with us, and we're going to hurt you if you don't?"

"You can't do that," he says with perfect assurance. "You'll lose your Auror license."

"You think the Ministry will fire _me_, on _your_ word?" I let out a chuckle that isn't entirely fake. I know it's horrible, and I know I complain about it incessantly, but there are times it's nice to have the status I have. "Scamander, I could kill you and bury you in a ditch, and they'd likely promote me. You don't seem to realize who you're dealing with right now. Let me ask you a question: How many people who directly stood in front of Voldemort and told him 'no' are currently alive?"

"V-Volde— what are you talking about?"

"The answer is two, fuckwit. Two people who personally told Voldemort to piss off and lived to see the end of the war. Both of them are in this room. And they're both angry with you."

Scamander goes very, very pale for a moment.

"But that's completely beside the point, isn't it? We're not here to talk about Voldemort. We're here because of Luna, and you aren't going anywhere until I'm satisfied you understand the situation."

"The only situation here is that you've gone and stuck your nose into other people's business!" Scamander answers, his face gaining colour again. "I'm engaged to the girl I love one day, and the next day, I find out you've turned her against me! I can't even pretend to know why you're so concerned about our relationship, but I'll thank you to remove yourself from it!"

He tries to stand up then, and Neville immediately draws his wand, casting an Immobulus to keep the man still long enough for the two of us to bind him to the chair. Neville seems a little confused about what's going on (understandable, since I didn't really tell him) and settles for saying nothing further. It could work; silence can be scary.

"Let's stop fucking around," I say in a sweet voice. "She told me, Scamander. She told me _everything_."

He looks concerned, at least briefly, but then he just shrugs the whole thing off like it's an itch between his shoulders and glares at me.

"I don't know what that's supposed to mean, but I'm in love with Luna. She's extremely precious to me. I assure you that I haven't done anything to warrant this kind of assault."

"You really are an idiot, aren't you Scamander? I said she told me everything. You saw how naïve she was, and you took advantage of it. You got her wrapped around your finger, and you forced her to do things she didn't want to do. She was pretty confused about the whole thing, but she was clear on one point: she _definitely_ told you 'no.' And she told you she didn't like it. And she told you it hurt. That's bad enough, so I won't even start on all the ways you've been trying to force her to make her business and personal life match up to your expectations. You're a control freak, but just now I'm more concerned that you're an _abusive_ control freak."

Caught up in the moment, I forgot that Neville didn't know this. He's standing to one side of Scamander, and his face is getting darker and darker with anger the more I talk.

"Why would she even talk to you?" Scamander spits out, acting more pissed off than scared. I was hoping he would be a coward, but I guess it's time to step things up.

Only I don't really have to, because Neville lunges forward and slugs Scamander in the jaw. My own jaw drops open, I can kind of feel it dragging in the dirt on the floor, but I'm too busy staring to care. I guess Neville can do bad cop, after all.

"You know what, _fuck you_, Scamander!" Neville shouts, towering over the man with his fists clenched. "It's none of your business if she talks to her friends! This is about what you've done to her!"

Scamander is shocked, and his eyes are showing fear now. "Look, I . . . I do love her, and I just . . . You know, people in love are allowed to be physical. They usually _want_ to have that, it's an important part of the relationship. She didn't know anything about it, so I taught her. I thought she'd be _grateful,_ I mean, Merlin, what girl her age doesn't know anything about sex? She loves me, too, or she wouldn't have agreed to it. I mean, I don't know what she told you, but it was consensual."

"Like hell it was," I say, and then I'm overcome, seeing red, and my fist somehow makes its way to Scamander's face, nearly on top of the red spot Neville's punch left behind. "You took advantage of her! Admit it! And _then_, you _snake_, then you _hurt_ her! I don't know what kind of world you're living in, Scamander, but that's not love where I come from!"

I think I must have hit him a couple of times, even though I don't really remember doing it, because his nose is bleeding.

"If a woman tells you 'no,' and you take what you want anyway, it's rape. If you make it hurt, even though she tells you not to, it's rape."

Scamander looks completely dazed, and I'm not sure it's the punches. I think he didn't even know what he is. And what he is, is a fucking rapist.

"I . . . I didn't," he says in a weak voice, like he doesn't know what he's denying. "I love Luna, I didn't mean to . . ."

Neville punches him again. "You've lost the right to say that," he says, and even _I_ shiver. His voice is soft, and cold. I've never heard Neville talk that way. "You've lost the right to speak to her, about her, or near her. If you ever try to contact her again, I will come find you, and I will castrate you. Got it?"

This threat is helped by the fact that Neville's got his wand pointing at the man's bits.

"And I'm not an Auror," he continues, still quiet and cold. "I don't have a license to lose. So don't make the mistake of thinking I don't mean it, Scamander."

"He'll have worse problems if he comes near our friend again, Neville," I break in. "Because I have a written statement from her, and I can file it at any time." Yes, this is a big fat lie, but I'm allowed _one_ lie in the course of this little altercation. "But I'll let you castrate him before I send him to prison, I guess. Not much use for that thing, on the inside."

"I'm not sure that's enough punishment," Neville says with a frown, seeming to catch on to the game of this thing at last. "I hear Azkaban isn't so bad since they got rid of the dementors."

"We could drop him off in a vampire nest," I suggest.

"Maybe you could just make sure he gets to bunk with Greyback when he gets to Azkaban," Neville says.

"That might work," I agree, "He won't ever publish a book again, if he goes to jail. Making him a werewolf so he can't get any _other_ job just makes it even better."

"I get the point!" Scamander bursts out, almost shrieking. "I get it, alright? You two lunatics don't want me to talk to Luna anymore! Once she tells me that herself, then I'll go. That's all I want. I want to hear it from her first."

He's grasping at straws at this point, and he knows it, but thankfully I was already prepared for this.

"You did hear it from her, although you might've been too hammered to remember. That's okay. She knew she might have to say it again." I draw from my pocket the object that Luna gave me earlier today. She agreed that if she saw Scamander in person, he might use that silver tongue of his to test her resolve, so she said I could be the one to give this to him. I must admit, I find it pretty satisfying to drop it into his lap.

He stares down at the gleam of gold on his leg. "Her engagement ring?"

"She said you could have that back. Apparently she doesn't want it anymore."

Scamander's face crumples. Just that quickly, I realise it's over. He's done. He's had enough. He was prepared to fight Neville and I to the ends of the earth, but actual rejection from Luna seems to break his resolve. We unbind him and cancel the immobilising curse, but we take him by the arms again to escort him off the property. Just to be on the safe side, you understand. But he gets his wand back once we let him go.

Once he's outside the Lovegood's wards, he starts to shuffle away. He's got the ring clenched in a fist, and he keeps looking at it as he meanders away. I can hear him start to cry. Neville snorts, crosses his arms, and keeps up a menacing stance, waiting for Scamander to get out of sight before he breaks it. Scamander looks back only once, looking right over our heads to the light in Luna's window. She has the curtains drawn.

I'm disgusted with myself for it, but I think I feel a little sorry for him.

Scamander pulls out his wand, making us both tense up. He conjures a little paper bird, whispers to it, and sends it floating up toward her window. He can't think he's going to get away with that? Neville incinerates it immediately.

I don't feel sorry for him anymore. I hit his conniving arse with a jinx before he can Disapparate.

* * *

Neville and I are clearly more intimidating than I'd hoped. Not hide nor hair of Rolf Scamander is seen in Ottery St. Catchpole after that night. Not that chasing The Arsehole off immediately solves everything. Really, he makes an appearance in way more parts of my life than I'm comfortable with. Like my job, for example.

"_Potter!"_

"_Ah, hello, Mr. Nguyen, what can I do for you?"_

"_Had an interesting case at St. Mungo's this morning, Potter. I went and checked it out myself."_

"_Unusual for you, isn't it sir?"_

"_Get tired of sitting behind the desk. Besides, this was a delicate situation, I had to be sure it was handled appropriately."_

"_What was it, sir?"_

"_This bloke showed up seeking treatment for hex damage to his face, and he refused to give his name or say what had happened to him. Healers thought it was suspicious, called our office, so I went down there to talk to him."_

"_Did you? What did he have to say for himself?"_

"_Not much, really. Still wouldn't tell me a damn thing. He just said it had been a personal dispute, and nobody was going to be pressing charges. Wasn't much I could do about it, so I cut him loose and let him get treated. But I can't stop thinking about what had happened to him. Someone had caused the words 'Rat Bastard' to be spelled out across his face in boils."_

"_Er, how interesting."_

"_Innit? Well, I just couldn't help thinking about last time I had a case like that. Some poor bloke got cursed the same way, only it said, 'hypocrite.' Funny how that was you, eh, Potter?"_

"_Funny, sir."_

"_Look, I don't even want to know, okay? I just need to know if any of my other Aurors were involved."_

"_I have no idea what you are talking about sir. But since the Auror squad is comprised of such fine, upstanding folks, I would say none of them would be involved in something like that."_

"_Mmph. Fine. Or . . . Any chance of a _trainee_ being involved?"_

"_Absolutely not, sir. Not that I would know for sure, since I have no idea what you're talking about."_

"_Well, then, who _was_ there?"_

"_I certainly have no idea, sir. But if somebody was there, it wouldn't be anyone I'd want to mess with."_

"_This happens again, Potter, and this goes on the record, you understand?"_

"_Absolutely, sir."_

"_Mmph."_

It isn't just the job, of course. There's the friends (and girlfriend) to deal with. I was trying to be helpful and keep people off Luna's back, so I sent a quick note to the people she invited to the wedding, letting them know it was cancelled. I thought it was nice and straightforward. Apparently, that's my masculine brain assuming too much about women.

"_Just what I said in the note I sent: The wedding's off. It's not my place to say anymore. If you want to know why, you'll have to ask Luna. Although I hope you won't, at least not for now. She needs some time."_

And of course there's Luna herself. It's incredibly clear to me that she needs someone to talk to that isn't me. She needs to talk to a girl, about a lot of things. For one thing, I'm concerned that she's injured in some way that needs to be dealt with. But mostly, it's just that I can tell she's still really confused. I can see why she'd have an aversion to seeing a Healer, but the real problem is that her closest friend, the one she could talk to most intimately, has somehow become me. There's a lot in this situation that I can't help her with, and I get the willies every time I think about trying.

I consider my girlfriend. Ginny could talk to her. Ginny has been her friend for a long time, and she's got a really kind heart. But the thing about Ginny is that she's . . . well, too direct. Bless her for having any sense of femininity in her soul at all, after growing up with all those boys around, but she isn't the nurturing sort. I'm afraid Luna's just going to break if she isn't handled delicately.

It takes me a while to figure it out. It's probably because I never had one, myself. Eventually, I realise that what Luna needs is her mother. So that really sucks.

Oh, hey . . . Ginny, and mothers, and nurturing women . . . and . . . Yeah, that could work.

"_Luna? Do you think you could feel comfortable talking to Mrs. Weasley?"_

That little comment on my part leads to an intense round of firecalls, and my pacing in the Lovegood's garden whilst Molly calls on Luna. It takes a long time, and I'm worried as hell before they finally tell me to stop tromping through the radishes and come in. There's a big pile of tissues and they both look shaken, but Molly is cuddling Luna with an arm around her waist, like she's still a little girl, and Luna is letting her.

Molly doesn't stay long after that, but she does invite Luna and Mr. Lovegood over for dinner the next night, and she takes me aside to tell me that I'd better protect that girl and I'd better understand that she's still far too innocent and I'd better be on my best behaviour around her. Trying to work out what she's saying, I interpret it to mean she's warning me to not be an oblivious male about this. I have to think of a way to give her some space without making it seem like I'm drawing away. She's shaking her finger at me, so I just say "yes, ma'am," and try _not_ feeling like twelve-year-old boy who just landed an illegal flying car in her yard.

Knowing that Molly will be keeping an eye on her, I can almost convince myself that it's safe to give Luna space. In fact, after their talk, Luna seems to be doing better, and I finally think I ought to go home. I'm pretty stunned when I realise I've been staying at the Lovegoods for over a week.

* * *

I need to go to work this afternoon, but I've been missing my Bug, so I invite him to come over for breakfast with me. I want to spend at least a couple of hours with him, since I won't get another chance to see him until tomorrow night. I know he's probably pretty confused about my absence for so long, and I don't know how exactly I'm going to be able to explain it. I'm not about to lie to Bug, but this is really . . . Just _way_ too much for a boy of his age.

He launches himself at me the second Andromeda escorts him through the Floo, and I am forced to catch him before he manages to do me real harm. He's smiling, obviously happy to see me, but he wraps his legs around my waist and buries his face in my neck, which means I should have called him before now. He's not quite this clingy unless he's insecure, and the only thing he could be feeling insecure about is the way my absence might have communicated that he wasn't important to me.

Yeah, I suck as a godfather.

I run my fingers through his hair and raise my eyebrows at Andromeda. _"Talk later?"_ I mouth at her. I wanted to ask her about Teddy's medication, but I think it had better wait until after I spend some time with him. She just nods and slips back into the Floo, but I see the frown building on her face. I hate it when she frowns, because it always means something particularly bad to me. In fact, I get the weird and not-a-little disturbing idea that she's frowning because Bug and I are holding onto each other so tight.

"Are you hungry?" I ask the barnacle attached to my chest. It nods, which tickles my neck, and I repress an undignified giggle. "Good. We're going to make french toast and bacon."

"And orange juice?" Teddy asks hopefully, finally lifting up his head.

So I was raised Muggle. So I stopped drinking pumpkin juice as soon as I started doing my own food shopping. So sue me. I think the fact that I have orange juice is half the reason Teddy likes coming to my house.

"_Obviously_ orange juice," I saw, rolling my eyes with great drama, and Teddy finally feels ready to let go of me and slip down to go to the kitchen. He does stick right by my side, though. "You're going to help me cook, right, Bug?"

He nods frantically, sending his shaggy hair flopping about. Andromeda tells me that she tries to cut it all the time, and it grows right back. She also says that if I ever bothered cutting _my_ hair, Teddy's hair would probably behave. (I just forget—I'm not neglecting my hair on purpose just because it amuses me to watch Andromeda struggle. Really, I promise.)

I get out the ingredients and a pan to cook them in, and I generously allow Teddy to attempt cracking the eggs. He makes an awful mess, but getting it perfect isn't really the point, is it? Luckily, the egg and the egg shell contain components different enough that I can Vanish the shell and leave the egg without trouble.

"Your toast always tastes better than Grandma's," Teddy informs me. I try to stop the swell of pride, but it's difficult.

"Can you keep a secret?" I ask him in a whisper.

He nods eagerly.

I summon a canister of cinnamon, and very solemnly drop a pinch into the egg batter.

"You can't tell Grandma. It's my super secret recipe."

"Okay," he whispers, and pantomimes zipping his lips.

I'm suddenly moved to give him a big hug. "It's not really a secret," I laugh. "Mrs. Weasley showed me that."

Teddy grins at me. "Can I still pretend it's a secret? I like having a secret from Grandma."

"Sure, Bug," I say, and straighten up again to finish fixing our breakfast. "Will you get plates and forks and cups?"

"Okay!"

The table is set, possibly a bit haphazardly, but set, while I get the bacon sizzling.

"Can I pour orange juice?"

I can already hear Kreacher's complaints about the mopping, and it causes me to hesitate just the tiniest bit. Teddy's face falls.

"Okay, go ahead."

I am _such_ a sap. (No, doctor, I am _not_ compromising my judgment because of my guilty feelings over my recent absence, and how dare you suggest such a thing.) And I actually had no reason to worry, since Teddy doesn't spill a drop. (Well, okay, just a drop.) And with how good the food and the company are, I find it hard to be upset over that kind of thing. With the week I've been having, I need an hour with my innocent and delightful godson about as much as I need breathing, and I finally start to relax as we eat. Yes, I'm still worried about a godforsaken number of things, but this is always going to be able to make things right in my world.

I'm shoveling the last piece of bacon into my mouth when Teddy asks the question I've been dreading he will ask.

"How come you didn't . . ." he stops there, and picks up his orange juice. He doesn't want to ask, but he's giving me that under-the-hair look.

"Do you want to know why I didn't spend time with you this week?"

He shakes his head in violent refusal, but I fix him with a stern look.

"Are you lying?" I ask him.

He starts crying. Great, I've made an insecure five-year-old cry. I wonder if I can still rank above the dung beetle and tapeworms, or if it's time to let the Hogwarts squid eat me.

"C'mere." I gather him up, unprotesting, into my lap, and he tries to bury his face in my chest. "Hey, Bug, it's okay. Shhh. Talk to me. What is it?"

"Grandma said you were with Luna and Neville," Teddy sort of hiccoughs.

"I was."

"They don't like me anymore, huh?"

"What?" My arms tighten spasmodically, and I'm probably strangling Bug, but I can't make myself let go. "No, no, no. That's not it at all." I shift him on my lap and start running my fingers through his hair when I realise he just needs to cry it out. "Is that what you were worried about?"

"They think I'm a werewolf," he sobs.

Shit! Of course! I suddenly absent myself right after I spill the beans to those two, and leave him thinking . . . Oh, Merlin. I know what I've done, but I don't know how to fix it. I don't know how to do this for him. I don't even know what it must feel like for him. I have never wished so much that Teddy's dad could be here.

"Bug, listen. You know how long I've been friends with them?"

"No."

"It's been a long time. We went to school together, just like I went to school with Uncle Ron and Aunt Hermione. Do you know what that means?"

"No."

"It means Luna and Neville knew your dad, Bug. He was their teacher, just like he taught me. And later, when those bad people were making a mess, they were all working together to help out. They knew that your dad was a werewolf, and they liked him just as much as if he wasn't. Your dad was one of the people who made me understand how important our choices are. He could have been a very bad werewolf like one of the men we were fighting, but he chose to be better than that, even when people were mean to him. All of the people that I'm friends with now? All of them knew that about Remus. And that means that no matter what, no matter what happens with your illness, my friends are going to like you for what kind of person you choose to be."

I put my hand under his chin and lift his red, snotty face up toward mine so I can look him in the eye.

"Do you understand?"

"Yes," he hiccups. He throws himself back into my chest and just generally begs to be cuddled. I can handle cuddling, although I'm not sure I can handle how much this kid breaks my heart sometimes.

"Do you want me to tell you why I wasn't around this week?"

My eyes are closed to keep myself from any hint of tears, but I feel him nodding.

"I was with Luna, trying to be a good friend for her. Somebody was very mean to her, and hurt her feelings very badly. Neville helped me get rid of that mean person, and I stayed with Luna so I could make sure she wasn't too sad. I wanted to spend time with you, Bug, but I really needed to help Luna. Is that okay?"

I've managed to open my eyes by now, and I see that Teddy has turned his face to look at me, mostly finished crying.

"It's okay," he says, but then he frowns. "Did you make him say he was sorry?"

"What?"

"Mr. Scamander hurt her feelings, right? Are they still getting married?"

"How do you know it was Mr. Scamander?"

Teddy just shrugs, then a guilty expression creeps over his face.

"What is it, Teddy?"

"I don't like him," Teddy admits. "I don't want Luna to marry him."

"I don't want her to, either. Luna doesn't want to marry him, after how mean he was to her. Neville and I told Mr. Scamander that he wasn't allowed to see her anymore. I don't think we need to worry about him."

"Good," Teddy says.

"Bug? Why don't you like him?"

Teddy shrugs again. "Dunno," is his illuminating answer, then he slides down from my lap. "Can we go to Luna's house?"

"What, right now?"

He nods. "You said her feelings got hurt, and that she's sad. I could give her a hug. She said I give the best hugs."

I stand up, and put a hand on his shoulder for a second. "I think she's busy working right now, but I'm sure she would like that a little later on. Thank you for thinking of her. Now, let's get these dishes into the sink. I need to take you back to Grandma's house so I can get ready for work."

I hope I still have some time left to chat with dear Grandma about Dr. Griffith and Teddy's Possible Treatment. I really, really want Kreacher to retire and I hate giving him work to do even when he's begging for some . . . but since I refuse to cut his head off and mount it on my wall, I decide to leave the dishes for him to wash, which will give me a couple of minutes with Andromeda. (Let it never be said that I'm not a generous guy.)

Teddy looks confused, since I normally tell him not to make work for Kreacher and to clean up his own messes, but I just tell him I'm going to do them later—and I will do, assuming Kreacher doesn't see them or get to them (quite a stretch of the imagination, I know).

I poke my head into the fire. "Hello?"

Andromeda appears to have been waiting for me, since she's in a comfortable chair by the fireplace. "Harry," she replies genially, looking up from the book open on her lap.

"I'm bringing Teddy back. D'you have a few minutes to talk?"

"Certainly," she says, tucking a bookmark between the pages and setting her book aside.

I pull Bug into my side and get a good grip on him before we step together into the fireplace and call out, "Tonks residence!" Bug is used to Floo, and knows to not say anything until we're well clear of the mantel on the other side.

(I may, or may not, have invented horror stories about little boys getting themselves lost by speaking when the grownup is speaking. What's that? I could have told my own story about my first Floo trip? Ah, but then I'd have to explain Knockturn Alley and the Malfoy family, and I'm not sure I want Teddy to know anything about either topic.)

Andromeda seems to know what I want immediately. Well, it's not hard.

"Teddy, Harry and I will be discussing the potions that we got from Dr. Griffith. Would you like to stay while we talk, or would you rather begin your reading lesson?"

Teddy doesn't hesitate to choose reading, not that I can blame him, and he scoots off to let his grandmother tell me the good (or bad) news. But I do force him to give me a hug goodbye before he goes, and Andromeda is too smart to miss the way I watch him exit the room.

"Did something happen?"

"It's starting to get to him." I hear my voice come out in a whisper, and I hate myself for the weakness. It's somehow okay around Bug, but fairly damning around his grandmother, at least as far as my suitability as a guardian is concerned. I am supposed to be strong. "The things he hears people say, I mean. He's started to understand that sometimes, people won't see him for who he is, because they can't look past their assumptions."

"He knows this," Andromeda said in a stern voice, her tone making it somehow clear that she is superior to me because this isn't effecting her emotionally. "He's known it ever since we got attacked by those thugs when we were out shopping."

I shake my head, feeling a sudden heaviness as I realise that this will be a recurring problem, now that Bug has truly grasped this concept.

"He thought that this past week has been about excluding him. He thinks my friends aren't going to like him anymore, and you know how he adores those two."

Andromeda's lips thin out in that way that makes me so uncomfortable. Damn the strength of Black genetics. "I assume you were able to convince him otherwise? Or are your friends truly that fickle?"

I shoot upright, the slump in my shoulders disappearing in my anger that Andromeda would say such a thing. Teddy having doubts is one thing, but she should know better than to think I'd choose my friends so carelessly.

"They care about Teddy, just as much as they cared about his father," I tell her in a tight, bitter voice. I've never been able to shake the suspicion that Andromeda didn't like Remus, and the worst part is I also suspect she has a valid reason. "And that's what makes this so difficult. I'm trying to help, but I just don't think I'm _enough_, for this. Teddy needs Remus right now, and I can't stop whinging about how unfair it is that he can't have him."

Now Andromeda has begun to look really dangerous, but despite the visual provocation of my fighting instincts, I don't really fear her. She looks this way most of all when she's feeling sad. She's been through too much to allow her grief to express itself as anything other than coldness, because letting even the tiniest bit show itself would loose a dam that I can't even imagine. Her husband, her daughter, her whole life . . . All she has left is Teddy, and he's been the source of just as much pain as joy. In fact, thinking about all the things that she's keeping shut up behind those glittering eyes, I have to resist the urge to cross the room and take her in my arms like I do with her grandson, like I've been doing with Luna. She wouldn't thank me for it.

"And how much good do you think Remus would be doing right now?" Andromeda asks in a soft, careful voice. My eyes snap to hers in shock, even though this is only the confirmation of my suspicions. "Do you think he'd even be here, or do you think he'd have run again?"

I feel my mouth fall open as my protests die half-formed. (I did say I suspected it was valid.) Would he have run by now?

My mind flashes to that night he arrived in Grimmauld Place, when I was hiding there with Ron and Hermione. My confrontation with Remus, berating him for abandoning his responsibilities when he showed up at my door in desperation. My friends' surprise with me. That feeling of sickness deep in my gut when he left, as rage tried to mix with guilt inside me. I feel it again now, and fight down the urge to vomit, feeling that horror all over again. Because Remus didn't go back, not then. Not right away.

"He was gone for months, Harry," Andromeda says, almost sounding gentle, like she needs to let me down easy. Like I didn't already know. "Ted was on the run, and I was . . ." _Alone_, my mind supplies the finish, though she never will. "I had to watch my little girl trying to carry that baby to term without even knowing if her husband would return. He _left_."

"He came back," I answer, and suddenly things snap into focus again. I hate thinking about everything that happened back then, hate my own memories with a passion. (Don't try to tell me you wouldn't.) But I force myself to remember this, and to not let go of the conviction it gives me. "He did come back, and he was there to stay. He was so happy, and so proud, when Teddy was born. I remember how he looked, then. He looked like someone I'd never met before. He'd always looked so ill and so tired, but when Bug was born, he was just . . . transformed. He would have stayed. He didn't want to die when he did, no more than Tonks did. He would have been here for this, Andromeda. I know he would have."

She doesn't say anything, but she doesn't seem convinced, either.

"You won't ever breathe a word of this to Teddy," I say, shocked by the way it seems that I'm threatening her, even though I didn't mean to. "Don't ever tell him about how Remus left for so long. He couldn't . . . Right now, he wouldn't be able to understand."

"I am aware of that," she says, sounding horribly stiff and formal and uncertain. It's almost as bad as it was in the beginning, over four years ago, when I started having regular time with Teddy and I was still petrified with fear of Andromeda. I had hoped we'd come further than that, and I hate that it's Remus that's making us butt heads like this.

I shake it all off, quite literally. I shrug my shoulders, turn my attention completely away from the bitter tension in the room.

"Please, tell me what Dr. Griffith has come up with."

* * *

_It's not fair_.

My thoughts should really be more along the lines of _Oh, how interesting, I ought to write this down_. But a safety seminar is not the most exciting way to spend an afternoon at work, and my thoughts are wandering. They're still stuck on what I found out this morning.

Andromeda seemed really certain that there was no better solution, and this is one area where I will bow to her superior knowledge. Potions have a tendency to multiply, she explained. Any time medication starts, another will inevitably follow.

The long and short of it is that Teddy will continue to take the Wolfsbane potion that makes him so sick. Dr. Griffith believes his body will adjust itself to the poison it's ingesting after a time and stop trying to reject it, but until then, there is a nausea suppressant that Teddy will also have to take. Which is all well and good, but the combination of potions is going to create other symptoms, namely fatigue and dehydration. The fatigue could be treated, but Andromeda put her foot down at the idea of a third potion that might lead to further problems. Teddy's symptoms on the full moon will be treated, but he'll have to drink a lot of water and get tired more quickly than other children his age.

We can handle it. All of us, together, we'll handle it. Teddy is a tough kid, no matter what I know of his sensitive soul, and his grandmother and I can be strong enough when he's not up to it. I know we can deal with the issue. It's just that we shouldn't _have_ to. He's just a little boy, and he didn't ask for anything of this.

_It's not fair_.

And then, I hear another voice.

_Life isn't fair_.

I've been told that before, by the only person who understood it even better than I did. (Really, really hate my memories, have I mentioned that?) I know better than anyone alive what it's like to be singled out for torment, and I know better than anyone exactly what whimpering about it will get you. (It'll get you a blond ferret boy poking fun at you, and that's about it.)

That seems to clear my head, and I happen to see Lucas as I sniff and straighten up a bit. He looks bored enough to cry, but his eyes are on the seminar instructor. I remember the talk we had when we were on Diagon Alley patrol, and I come to attention. For good measure, I wave my wand and conjure up a quill, and jot down a few notes. This is my job. If I don't pay attention, people get hurt. And if there's anything I know better than how unfair life is, it's how much the people around me have a tendency to get hurt when I'm not paying attention.

I manage to focus on work all through the rest of the day, but when I get back to my house, I allow it all a moment to overwhelm me. Things with Teddy, things with Luna, the sudden assault of memories best forgotten . . . I curl up in a corner of the sofa and let myself be a scared child for a couple of minutes. For a minute, I wish I could cry, like Bug. If there was someone twice my size whom I trusted to take care of my problems, I would have no problem burying my face in his chest and letting it all out in a salty flood.

But there isn't anyone like that, and the weird attack of memories of my past is reminding me of that all too well. I don't have a father, and I don't have a godfather, and I don't even have a dear friend of theirs, which is what started the problem today. I don't have someone I can be weak in front of, the way Luna has me . . .

Oh, wait. Yes I do. I really am a moron sometimes. (What's that? It's not true stupidity, it's just too much time spent feeling sorry for myself? Don't be ridiculous!) I stick my head into the fireplace and check it's okay to come over, and I waste no time in stepping through when I get the permission I knew I would receive.

It's only a moment before I'm squashed between my two best friends on their sofa, feeling myself finally relax as I stare into the dying green-tinted flames in their fireplace. Hermione is already thinking about where she can go for a solution, everything from searching for a symptom-free treatment for fatigue to a book of legal issues that might give us the ability to prosecute people who accost Teddy in the street. Ron has already retrieved beers for both of us and is saying nothing at all as he hands me a bottle. Hermione on one side, Ron on the other, both giving me exactly what I need from them, and I am totally unashamed of the way I am leaning into Hermione's side and letting her put her fingers through my untamable hair. They've already seen me much worse than this.

There are a million things I would rather not remember about my teenaged years, but I'll never forget that these two were beside me through all of it. I might have to grow up, for my own sake and for Teddy's, but some things don't ever have to change.

* * *

_To my wonderful friends,_

_Thank you for asking so many questions recently. I know that you are asking because you are my friends and you are worried, so I am thankful even for questions I don't like to answer. I am mostly thankful for my dear friend Harry, who has tried so hard to protect me and my privacy. He's been quite wonderful about all of this. I think he'll understand why I want to write to all of you even after he tried so hard to help me keep this secret._

_I'd rather just tell everyone what happened and why I won't be marrying Rolf. I know you are concerned about it, and not telling you would mean that I didn't think you were a good friend, which is not true. What is true is that I should have remembered my friends sooner and asked for help when I needed it, instead of waiting until it was nearly too late. My relationship with Rolf was not a good one, and it led to me getting hurt quite badly. I was unsure of what to do about it. I must again repeat how grateful I am to my friend Harry for forcing me to admit that I was hurting and in trouble, so that he could help._

_I don't want to talk about most of it. The only thing that's really important for you to know is that Rolf would not have been a good husband, and I am much better off not marrying him. I am lucky to have my friends who are concerned about me, but I do hope you will know why I don't want to tell you anything else, and why it would be better if you didn't ask me about it anymore._

_Thank you for being my friend,_

_Luna Lovegood_

Obviously, this has been copied so that the same letter can be sent to several people. But mine includes a postscript.

_Harry, you aren't mad, are you? I know you worked really hard to keep it private, and I know you did it for me, but I think this is the best way. I don't want you to think I don't appreciate it. I even thanked you in the letter, did you see? Love, Luna_

I'm not mad. This is, indeed, probably a better course of action. There will be gossip, but it will all be directed at Rolf now rather than Luna, and her friends will be full of supportiveness for her, at least for a while. And I can't help but feel a bit gratified at seeing my name in her letter. That wasn't why I did it, of course, not at all. But I can't help but feel a slight vindictiveness—me, Harry, the perennially obtuse and emotionally stunted, managed to be a better friend than they did. I hope they're ashamed of how they've neglected the dear, sweet girl who wrote them this letter, the girl who has more faith in their friendship than they do.

No, I'm not mad. I'm just a little worried that she's not quite as calm about this as she's pretending to be. So as soon as I finish reading the letter, I drop by her place for a quick visit to make sure she's doing okay. Her dad is apparently having a good day, puttering about the garden and waving at me with every indication that he knows who I am. Luna is hard at work in her office, walking in a slow circle around the room, her eyes on the pages and pages of notes that she has tacked up on the walls. She's trying to piece together her article, the one she was doing the interviews for on that night she got drunk. Her eyes are unfocused, and her lips are moving slightly as she talks to herself under her breath. She looks more than slightly deranged. But then she sees me in the doorway, and she becomes lucid all at once, giving me a shy smile and not moving from her position in front of her notes.

"I'm not mad," I tell her.

She hurries across the room to embrace me.

"Curious as to what made you do it, though."

She has her face pressed into my chest, just like Teddy did the other day. "Just wanted to act first," she mutters. Then she lifts her face and gives me a little smile. "If I use it first, then it can't be used against me as easily, you know? I thought it was clever of me."

After all the time I've spent with her in the past two weeks, it's only too easy to see the brittleness under the brave words. And the mere fact that she recognized the possibility that it could be used against her, much less her decision to strike first, means life has taught her more hard lessons than I am strictly comfortable with Luna having learned. That easy, sweet, innocent way she looked at life has gotten choked half to death, and I hate it.

"Very astute," I confirm, but I can't make myself smile. I rub her back for a moment, then I decide my two charges really do deserve some time together. I go to the fireplace and get Teddy from Andromeda. He's been anxious to give Luna a hug for two days, and I will be the first one to tell you just how good a Bug Hug is.

Ten minutes later, I'm trying to figure out a way to distill Essence of Luna's Smile and Essence of Bug's Hug. If I could market it, I'd have enough money to solve world hunger. As it is, I just bask in the company I keep and feel like I'm already the richest man in the world.

* * *

**_A/N: Don't forget that you can also find me at . . ._**

www dot farenmaddox dot wordpress dot com (Book reviews and more!)

AND

faren-maddox dot livejournal dot com (Story notes, thoughts on life)


	9. Chapter 9

_**A/N:**__ I must begin this chapter by offering my humble gratitude to The Wandering Reader, who has listened to me ramble my way through ideas for this story until I'm sure she hates it. Thank you, so much. I don't think this chapter could have happened without a recent conversation between us (indeed, I am not sure I could finish this __story__ without some of the conclusions that conversation brought me to)._

_Despite all the gratitude, this chapter is not dedicated to the Wandering Reader. I must dedicate this chapter (and the next one, for that matter) to madbrad, whose opinion on Ginny is making me work like a house elf to get this part right._

* * *

Chapter Nine

The Best Man

Wedding season has officially begun, and it has begun with Neville and Hannah. They're keeping it small, mostly family, and thank Merlin for that. I know that Hermione, for the sake of peace, is going to let Molly make her wedding huge and I don't how many huge weddings I can handle. Dean Thomas is getting married soon, as well, to a girl I don't know—and from what women tell me, weddings breed and I should expect more invitations soon.

To say that I am going to spend the next few months uncomfortable would be a gross understatement.

I am going to attend at least three weddings, each time with Ginny on my arm. I'm not just uncomfortable, I am afraid. Because I actually need to admit to myself that I do not, currently, have an interest in getting married. I can love Ginny like crazy, but I don't want to marry her, at least not right now. It's time I said that, out loud.

"I don't want to marry Ginny right now."

"What?"

Oops. Forgot about Teddy for a second.

"Nothing, Bug, just talking to myself. Are you ready?"

Teddy holds up his tie with a hopeless look, and I kneel down to help him tie it—which I know how to do because I practiced with Arthur, two weeks ago, in preparation for wedding season. Ginny is going to be here in a minute, and then all three of us are going to Augusta Longbottom's house for the wedding ceremony, which will be tiny. The reception, of course, will be at the Leaky Cauldron, and will be slightly bigger, but not too much bigger. As far as I know, Ginny and Teddy and I will comprise three of the seven people at the Longbottom house who are not relatives. Ron, Hermione, Luna, and Susan Bones are the others. I don't think any of Neville's friends from work are coming to the ceremony, while Ginny, Luna, and Susan are all the friends that Hannah claims to need.

Ginny arrives while I am in the middle of wondering if Neville asked his great uncle Algie to be his best man, since it's not Ron or I. She doesn't announce herself, just comes upstairs and strolls into my room, looking amazing.

"Hey, Gin," I say as I fix my own tie.

"Hi," she answers, sounding cheerful and giving me a peck on the cheek. She leans forward to look at herself in the mirror and starts doing something or another with her makeup. I give her a nice, long look. All that time she spends in training makes her so utterly comfortable with her body that she looks just as relaxed and confident in her dress robes as she does in a pair of jeans, or naked in bed. Mmm, Ginny naked . . .

"Harry, what are you looking at? Come on, let's not be late," Ginny says, taking my arm and dragging me away from my spaced-out perusal of my bathroom counter.

I head downstairs with her, and I think I'm blushing. I don't know why, normally I'd just tell her I'm thinking about her naked and try to convince her to stay the night before going back to Wales. But I don't want to tell her I'm thinking about her naked. I'm not sure why. I'm too distracted for intense self-analysis today, so let's just assume it's related to the lack of desire to get married and move on. (Yes, doctor, I promise we'll talk about this later.)

"Ready, Bug?" I ask the bouncing presence at my side. He's never been to a wedding before, and he's excited to see it. I've explained to him what Neville and Hannah are doing today, and he got confused because he thought they must have done it already. He's such a perceptive kid, he really is. I had to think about it for a long time before I came up with something. I ended up telling him that two people know they are ready for marriage when they start acting like they already are.

"I'm ready," he says enthusiastically, running his hands over his tie and robes. He looks so cute in formal robes, and I think he knows it, because he's giving me a grin of pride over his outfit.

"All right, Ginny, you go through, and I'll come with Bug behind you."

"Okay," she says, and quickly pokes her head into the Floo to get clearance to come through. She seems so _okay_ with this whole thing, with watching someone else get married when she still has no ring on her finger. And I know, because Hermione told me, that girls get mightily insecure about bare ring fingers when they're our age. I was half-expecting her to pick a fight with me about it.

Of course, that's stupid of me. Ginny's just not like that. She might be feeling horrible and insecure and all of that, but she hates drama as much as I do, and she'd never bring it up right before someone else's wedding. In fact, while she would wait for a night where neither of us are busy and we can be alone, I don't think she'd be too afraid to bring it up. This just makes me think she's happy not getting engaged, herself. So maybe I did the right thing, to let it go when I lost the engagement ring.

Oh, good grief, I've really got to get a hold of myself. I grab Bug and step into the fire, determined to let Neville have his day.

The other side of the fire is so frightening, I almost wish I was stuck at my house having a fight with Ginny. It's a room full of old people. No, really. Grey hair, far as the eye can see. I recognize Neville's grandmother Augusta, and the rest of them are surely relatives, but they're all _old_. No wonder Neville invited Ron and Hermione, even though he's not that close to them. He just needed someone who wasn't related to him and didn't look like they'd known Merlin personally. Ginny and Teddy are the only people in sight that I know at all, and Bug is clinging to my leg so hard that I think his fingers are going to leave bruises.

People start shaking my hand, and it actually relaxes me a bit. I'm in a room full of people I don't know, but _they_ know _me_, and they want to shake my hand. This is something I know how to deal with. It even relaxes Bug a bit, to see me looking so easy-going about it, and I forget my worry that they might have to surgically remove his hand from my thigh. It's all, "Thank you for everything you did," and, "No, no, I didn't do anything without help . . ." Urgh. I thought I was done with this kind of shit at least three years ago, but this group probably doesn't get out much. Afraid of broken hips, maybe.

—_What the hell is so bad about old people, anyway, and why am I acting like this?_ Maybe it's my recent talks about knowing myself with Kingsley Shacklebolt, or maybe it's my policy of honesty with Bug (or maybe, Merlin take me, it's some new defense against ever becoming like The Arsewipe—and there he goes, creeping into my life again). Well, whatever it is, it makes me think about my motivations loads more than I used to. I have to stand here a moment and examine my old-person prejudice, because I can't help but examine and re-examine everything I do, lately.

It might be simple unfamiliarity, really. I don't know anybody that I would call old, except maybe some of the Hogwarts professors. That's strange. The only person I've known who was truly elderly was Dumbledore. And while I'm not totally positive on this, I think I hate Dumbledore. I mean, I've got the right. Oh, wow. Now that I'm thinking about it . . . Maybe _that's_ where my honesty with my godson comes from. I'd never lie to _anyone_ the way I was lied to, but Bug's too special to risk losing because of some omission or manipulation.

"Harry, you're here! I don't know what to do!"

Neville is pulling me in and slapping me on the back while he says this, and wearing a look of such abject terror that I almost want to laugh. At least he's distracting me. I really need to learn how to put self-introspection on the back burner while I'm in company.

"Neville, mate, how're you holding up?"

He gives me a wide-eyed look, and I let out my chuckle. "Nervous, eh?"

"Harry, what was I thinking?" he whispers. "I can't be a husband. I'm clumsy, slow, incompetent _Longbottom_."

_Whoa._ This needs to be dealt with. I catch Ginny's eye, and jerk my head just a fraction toward Teddy. She nods, letting me know she'll keep an eye on him, and I drag Neville away from the press of his family and into a tiny sitting room that's been pressed into service as a coat room.

"All right, then, what is this you're going on about?"

"I can't marry Hannah," he gasps. "She's gorgeous. She's perfect. And I'm _me_."

I'm struck dumb. After all this time, he still sees himself that way?

"Nev," I choke out. "What the _hell_, mate?"

He just shakes his head in misery.

"You're not clumsy, or whatever it was you just said. Okay, maybe you are a bit clumsy. But seriously, I think Hannah already knew that. The _point_ is, of course you can marry her. I don't know how you can be so blind about yourself, mate. Hannah is lucky to have you. I'm not saying she's not a great girl, because she is. But you're . . . Neville, you're one of the kindest and most courageous people I've ever met. You're a completely stand-up guy. Not to mention that you practically worship the ground Hannah walks on. How could you think you're not going to be a good husband for her?"

He's quiet. Which is good, I think. Hopefully means he's listening.

"I was trying to explain what marriage is to Teddy, you know. He thought you and Hannah had been married this whole time. And honestly, Nev, he was basically right. You two already make such great partners that the ceremony today is basically just a statement for the record."

There is a quiet knock on the door, and Ginny pokes her head in. She barely glances at me, but she gives Neville a long searching look. She rolls her eyes and lets herself in, shutting the door behind her.

"Neville Longbottom, if you are getting cold feet, I'm going to have to do something drastic."

"Oh, really?" he says with a wan smile.

She gives him her best stern look. It's the one I wish I could conjure up to give to Bug when he's trying to get out of something, the one that seems to belong exclusively to Weasley women.

"You and Hannah have been waiting for this day for too long already," Ginny declares confidently. "You've been in love for six years, and if there was any reason that you _shouldn't_ get married, you'd have discovered it by now."

"But I—"

"Don't make me call Seamus," Ginny says warningly, and Neville's mouth clamps shut. He stares at her with something akin to horror. "Do you really want to do this wedding drunk? Because that can happen. I don't mind having a repeat of The Incident."

She's talking about that year of school that I was absent from, and it makes me a little nauseated to think that I don't know what The Incident is, or what is has to do with Seamus or getting drunk. Nausea is my second-most common way to manifest guilt, right after anger. I wasn't there for any of the hardships they went through. I know in my head that I was doing something important, that I went through hardships of my own, but in my heart it still feels like I abandoned my friends to something I should have been able to protect them from.

There's another knock on the door, and I almost hex the person on the other side.

"Is this a job for the best man?" asks a teasing voice that I recognize immediately.

"Come on in, you can help me and Harry sort him out," Ginny answers.

Luna slips in, and I can't help but laugh aloud when I see her. I suppose I was expecting a repeat of Bill's wedding, and a blinding yellow ensemble, but today she's wearing very traditional dress robes. Boys' dress robes. With a bowtie. Only Luna Lovegood would do this.

"You're the best man?" It's not really a question, since the answer is pretty clear. "Nobody told me."

"It was a secret," Luna says, flashing that serene smile that I've missed from her lately.

Neville shrugs helplessly, but he's lost that panicked look and has almost started to smile, now. "I'm not close to very many people. She's been there for things . . . and she's still here. Luna is the person I most want to stand up with me today."

"I've stood up with you before," she says, looking very serious, and sitting down beside Neville and taking his hand. "During some very frightening times." Something passes between them, all three of them, and it makes me feel left out, to be honest. Crap, is this what it feels like for other people to be around me and Ron and Hermione? "I was so proud that you wanted me to do the same during a joyful time."

"We know how strong you are, Neville," Ginny says.

Luna finishes. "We know you can be strong enough to accept happiness, too."

Neville nods, looking down at his lap, and takes a deep breath. "Okay," he sighs. "Okay, let's do this."

And so we do. Luna pats his shoulder, Ginny hauls him to his feet, and I keep a hand on the centre of his back to steer him back out amongst the others, just in case he suddenly changes his mind and tries to escape or something. We escort him all the way into the large parlour where the officiant waits—yet another old person, whom I suspect is one of Neville's relatives—and then we look for our own seats. It turns out that Ron and Hermione arrived while we were staving off disaster, and Bug was with them. He bounces up out of his chair, but Ginny and I slip in beside him and I press him back down.

"Just about time to start," I warn him.

"Where'd you go?" he whispers.

"Just had to help Neville with something."

"Oh. Did you _see_? Luna's got boys' clothes on."

"I know. She's going to be Neville's best man today."

"But she's a _girl_."

"I know. She's just making a little joke, I think." Well, that or she thinks she's actually required to dress like a man to play the role. This _is_ Luna. Teddy looks very puzzled, trying to work out what is amusing about this joke, but I would probably have to explain the concept of a best man to him in detail before he'd get it. So I just shush him so that the ceremony can start.

It's simple, and absolutely perfect. Just Neville, Luna, and Susan at the front of the room, and then Hannah comes in with flowers in her hair, and even my breath is taken away. She's glowing, and it's so beautiful that it's hard to look at. I turn my eyes to Neville and see that his mouth is hanging open and his eyes are riveted on her. All his doubts have clearly left him. I flick my eyes to Luna and see a look that I haven't really seen on her before—she's so proud of her friends that she's glowing nearly as much as Hannah. Do weddings do this to all girls?

I look over at Ginny on one side, Hermione on the other. Ginny is wearing a look of pride, and Hermione looks as sappy as I've ever seen her, but neither of them seem to be _alight_ like that. And I'm glad for Luna, I decide. That she's come around enough in the past few weeks to be able to feel joy like this. She's still seemed so much more serious than she used to be, when we talk, but I was starting to be afraid that she had lost her ability to be happy. She hasn't, that's clear. I'm glad.

When Neville and Hannah actually make their vows, Ginny leans her head on my shoulder for a minute. I get a slightly sick feeling in my stomach, and I wonder what she's thinking. Or mostly, I wonder if she's thinking _It'll be us up there soon enough, and won't we look wonderful?_ or something like that. It's going to come up, between us, soon. It's wedding season. It has to.

(And no, doctor. Me dreading that conversation is not because I don't think Ginny will understand, because I know her, and she _will_.)

The reception afterward relaxes me, at least a bit. Ginny dances with Neville just to wish him luck, then manipulates me into dancing with her by teasing me about how much fun _she_ had at the Yule Ball when we were kids. Ron and Hermione are dancing, too, and Hannah is dancing with her Uncle Tom while Luna takes a turn with Neville. Andromeda has been invited to the reception, so she's got Teddy, now. I see the speculative looks from the people not dancing, the sly grins as they predict the upcoming weddings. I "accidentally" step on Ginny's foot (well, it _was_ an accidently, mostly) so as to get us off the dance floor. She glares at me, although without any real malice, as she hobbles to a seat.

I grin at the way that Neville and Luna are spinning around the floor, oblivious to Luna's unfamiliarity with the steps. She does have an undeniable grace, even in her blithe ignorance, even in her men's robes.

"Odd, that," I hear Neville's Great Uncle Algie grunt to someone sitting beside him. "Dancing with the best man."

I think he's trying to make a joke, but the old lady beside him nods in agreement. Bewildered, I turn to Ginny and press a light kiss in her hair.

"You looked really happy, seeing them doing the vows."

"I was. I'm happy for them. _You_ looked like you had indigestion."

"Maybe I did," I tease her, brain scrambling for an explanation.

"Harry, what were you thinking that made you look like that?" she asks me with suspicion.

"Just thinking I was glad that it wasn't Luna's wedding," I say with sudden inspiration. Since Luna brought it up in her letter, I felt free to tell my girlfriend about my part in things. She said she was proud of me for it.

Ginny shudders now, remembering what I told her. "I'm so glad you got rid of that sick bastard."

"Me, too."

"This _does_ mean that we'll have to find her someone else," Ginny says lightly. "After all, Hannah and Hermione and I had such good ideas for her wedding."

I groan. "I was warned you girls get wedding fever."

"Warned by whom?" she asks archly.

"Your dad," I say with a smile, happy because she can hardly rail against him.

She narrows her eyes. "I think I'll have a little chat with Daddy about the advice he gives my boyfriend about girls."

I can tell she's not serious. "I'll be sure to put up some Shield Charms," I laugh, and squeeze her hand. "Come on, let's mingle. It's a party, after all."

A party that gets pretty hilarious when Great Uncle Algie calls Luna "Neil" and makes it apparent he actually believes she's a man. Nobody contradicts him, and Luna decides to try to lower her voice and keep the illusion going as long as possible. Which is even _more_ hilarious when I ask her for a dance, and I hear him say (well out of the range of Ginny's hearing, thank Merlin) that it's no wonder I haven't put a ring on _my_ girl's finger yet, dancing with blokes right there in front of everybody. He _thought_ that Neil boy and that Potter character both had that "funny" look about them.

Luna laughs at that, kisses my cheek, and it nearly sends Great Uncle Algie into cardiac arrest. We decide he's had enough, and let Neville explain at last.

* * *

We visited Wrexham today, and Dr. Griffin expressed delight in how well his Wolfsbane treatment is working for Teddy. He still can't use his Metamorphmagus abillities too well on the full moon, but that seems to be it. He interviewed Teddy to make sure he drinks plenty of water, which Teddy does because Andromeda and I make sure of it, and to find out if he's experienced a lot of fatigue, which he thankfully hasn't. Not yet, anyway. I'm clinging to the hope that it won't ever affect him too much.

We had dinner at the Dwynwen and Potion and chatted with Brychan like we're old friends, which we practically are, then Andromeda and Teddy went home. When I found out that Gerty is out of town visiting her mother, I decided to stay the night with Ginny.

So here I am, sitting in a chair in her living room, nursing a butterbeer and watching her read in front of the fireplace. She's stretched out, the skin of her back showing between her pants and her shirt, and her bare feet are practically in the fire. She's lit up in the glow of it, looking like something from a legend. And I'm sitting here, taking the opportunity afforded by her distraction, to make a list. A list of the reasons she's my girlfriend.

For one thing, she's absolutely beautiful. She wears her hair long because she knows I like it, and that's beautiful. And she's Forward Chaser for the Harpies, which means several things: she is constantly on a high-protein, low-carb diet, she runs several kilometres a day and does light weight-lifting, and she infuses a certain power and grace into her every movement. That incredibly slender body, the lean muscles sliding under the skin that glows with good health— damn. Believe me when I say that I know how lucky I am. Don't get me wrong, I feel that a good Auror should be in shape, so I do some running and working out myself. But I don't know how Ginny does it. She is so comfortable in her own skin that her confidence itself is beautiful.

That has to be more to this than how attractive she is. After nearly five years, even someone as hot as Ginny can't hold my attention with that all the time. So what else?

A sigh. I look at her, but she's still reading.

Ginny shifts herself, and the play of the firelight directs my attention to a scar that puckers a bit, all the way around her ankle. It looks suspiciously like someone bound her, by manacle or rope or something, but she's always refused to tell me how she got it. I once asked Neville if he knew, and he got a disturbed look on his face and said he couldn't tell me if she wouldn't. Which means he does know, which means she got it at Hogwarts, which means she got it facing off against the Death Eaters. And I love that she has the strength in her soul that made her stand up when everyone was cowering down.

So there's clearly more to her than the physical. I do adore where she comes from, every bit of it. I don't just mean her family, even though it's pretty handy to already be considered one of them. I mean the way she was raised—accepting of other people, working hard for what you love, all of that. She's got a genuine goodness in her that could never be bought or sold. And as the only girl out of all those boys, she knows that the universe doesn't revolve around her but also knows how to make herself heard when she wants to be.

So, I respect and admire her as much as I desire her. What else? There's the way she is with me, the way she's always been. She knows who I am, what I've done and what I've had to do, and it doesn't bother her. She's not put off by my name, she knows exactly who I am underneath that. We're comfortable, she and I. We can do this, be in the same room without talking and it doesn't feel awkward. I value that. Everything she is points to her being the perfect woman for me.

_So why don't I want to marry her_? I don't understand it, don't know why I'm balking at it when I was so sure just a few months ago. What is it?

Well. Let's pick this apart into pieces. So Ginny's great. I can admit that. But does it have to mean marriage? And where would this go, if not there?

Okay, for starters: everything except the physical desire are things I value in people who are only friends. A lot of people stood up to the Death Eaters. And Ron, for example, grew up the exact same way Ginny did, and if anything, I'm _more_ comfortable with him than I am with her. And I am most decidedly not gay, Great Uncle Algie's opinion notwithstanding. I don't want to marry Ron. So all those things I like about Ginny don't have to mean anything other than friendship. Right?

But what _about_ the physical? She's beautiful. Okay, good for her. So is Fleur, Bill's wife. I can know that she's beautiful without wanting her. (Which is all to the good, since _she's Bill's wife_.) Maybe that's a bad example. Okay, Hermione, then. She's beautiful, as well, at least I think so. But she doesn't do anything for me. And I don't want to marry her. Even a couple of the other girls on Ginny's team, who train their bodies just like she does and are clearly attractive, don't inflame me with the desire to leave Ginny and take up a life with them. So it is clear that mere physical desire doesn't have to mean anything, either.

But physical desire _and_ respect _and_ friendship? What are those things, if they aren't love?

But they _are_ love. I _do_ love Ginny.

This is getting me nowhere. Now I'm frustrated. I need to refocus this whole thing, approach it from a different angle. I need to think about marriage, maybe. What if I've got some idea of what marriage is that makes me think Ginny's wrong for it, and what if I don't even know I have this misconception? (Yes, doctor, I _am_ aware that that's what you're here for. That's why we're having this little chat.)

Marriage. Ginny and I have been together for nigh on five years. We've been children, most of that time. We're just barely figuring out what it means to be adults, right now. I know I thought I was so mature and grown-up when I was seventeen, but that doesn't mean I was right. I was definitely a little further along than most people my age, but it's taken me until recently to discover just how much I _don't_ know, and have no experience with.

So, what will we look like in another five? I'm trying to picture the scene.

_Ginny rolls over in her sleep, exposing a bare shoulder, but I just tug the sheet up and run a light hand through her hair. We've been together for ten years, the sight of her skin doesn't arouse me to the point I need to wake her up. And that's okay. I'm reading a book about Dark curses, doing some research for work, while she sleeps beside me. She needs her rest, there's a qualifying game tomorrow that will determine England's chances to get into the World Cup._

_There's a cry down the hall, a sound full of pain and misery. I leap out of bed, cursing silently. Teddy. It's the full moon, and sometimes his potion isn't as effective as I'd like. In only moments, I have him in my arms, soothing him while his hair goes wild with colour and his arms squeeze me so he won't run frantic hands across his itching skin. He relaxes in my embrace, and lets his fears go in a wash of tears. He becomes drowsy, limp in my lap._

_Ginny appears in the doorway. "Harry? Come back to bed."_

"_Can't, Gin. Teddy needs me."_

"_He'll be fine, he just needs sleep. And so do you. Come on."_

"_You don't understand, Gin. I can't leave him when he's in pain like this."_

"_How would I understand, Harry? You've still never told me what's wrong with him."_

I jolt back to awareness, and my eyes immediately fix on the burnished red hair that is glinting in the firelight. She's still bent over the magazine, her feet waving lazily in the air. I feel sick.

_Bug_. That's what it is, that's what is holding me back. I am as good as a father to him, and I've made up my mind that I'll fulfill that role no matter what it takes. But Ginny . . . She's nowhere near to being his mother. They're barely even friends. They're okay with being in the same room, sure, but they don't really know each other. And I have to hold my breath for a moment, because I'm noticing _that's the way Teddy wants it_. He won't let me talk to her about his health problems. He doesn't _want_ her taking that role.

I'm stumped. Why?

I keep saying he's an insightful kid. Maybe he knows something I don't. I try to go back to that picture of me, in his room, soothing him through the full moon while Ginny is trying to get some sleep. And try as I might, I can't make that scene in my head end with Ginny coming into Bug's room and sitting down beside him and stroking his hair. She'd be there for him, but she doesn't know much about comforting someone who's in pain. I'm not looking at it as a failing of hers, it's not something I want to blame her for . . . but I know she's not the right partner for me, when it comes to Teddy. I don't _want_ to know it, but I do. She can't give Teddy what he needs, not the way I can.

We're moving in two different directions, now. We used to be moving the same way, but then Teddy got sick. I'm the one who's changing. My priorities are becoming so basic: stability and simplicity. A home for my godson. Steady work that will help me give that to him. I want quiet, and peace, and anonymity. I want to raise Bug and help him overcome his physical problems, and I want to protect him from the prejudices out there.

Ginny hasn't changed. I know what she wants, it's what she's always wanted and what I have admired her so much for trying to achieve. She wants to do what she's good at, and more than that, she wants to be the best at it. She wants to ride this wave that is slowly but surely making her a celebrity, and she wants to play for England. I'm sure she wants things after she's achieved all that, we've even talked about the house we might live in someday and the children we might have. But it's supposed to happen later, after she gets everything out of Quidditch that she can.

Ginny can't have what she wants at the same time I have what I want. I can't leave Teddy out of my plans, and so I can't be the one to go with her. If I asked her to be part of my life, the life I'm heading towards, she would have to give up some of her dreams. And they're _good_ dreams, wonderful dreams. For me to ask her to let them go, just to have a quiet life with me and my godson . . . How could I ask that of someone I love?

And there it is. I'm stunned by the realization. It's like getting punched in the gut. The reason I don't want to marry Ginny is _because_ I love her. I love her too much to ask her to give up her dreams for me. I am not, at least not intentionally, trying to be selfish. I'm not doing this just because I want to. It's because of Bug. It's because I love _him_, and want to be able to give certain things to him. I really did used to want (and was it really such a short time ago, when it feels like forever?) to share a life with Ginny. I was prepared to go to all the parties, to shake all the right hands, to continue to be famous while she earned her place among the stars. It wouldn't be such a bad life. I probably would have enjoyed it. I might have even been persuaded to try out for a professional team, after all, and I probably could have liked that, as well.

But now I want something else, and it's because of Teddy. I can't feel guilty for that, much as I think I should. It isn't my fault that my priorities have changed, so it's no good casting blame. (I'm not trying to justify anything, doctor, and I'm not sure I like the insinuations.)

Ginny must have felt my eyes on her. She looks up sharply, her finger held lightly in place on the page where she is reading.

"What?" she asks in a lazy voice.

"Nothing."

"You're thinking awfully hard about something."

"Just that I love you," I say. It's not the truth entire, but it's honesty nonetheless. I don't know what to do with what I've been thinking about. I can't explain it to her without some serious practice. Who knows how it might hurt her, to blurt out the realization I've come to?

She smiles, looks down at the magazine, and then back up. "You're right, you know. This is amazing."

"Told you."

"I haven't paid enough attention to Luna," she says quietly. "I knew that she was producing _The Quibbler_, of course, but I had no idea she was capable of such wonderful writing."

"It's a great piece, isn't it?"

I'm glad we've changed the subject. This one is something I can handle.

"It's inspirational, and she picked a subject that is going to sell out this issue almost on its own. But she really is a good writer. She mostly does editing for other people's articles, I thought?"

"Yeah, she said that's what she does most of the time. But she's been wanting to do some writing of her own for a while now, and she said she loved researching the article. It did seem to stress her out, but she looked like she was in her element when she was working on it. Did I tell you, that was how I get involved in the mess with The Arsewipe?"

"The Ar— you mean Scamander?"

"Yeah. Neville and I saw her at the pub, working really hard on this piece, and we accidentally got her drunk, and she started saying all this stuff that had me worried about her, so I pushed her into talking about it."

"Lucky you were there at the right time, then," Ginny says slowly. She looks surprised. Maybe it's just that I'd forgotten to tell her about getting Luna drunk, until now.

"Yeah. If I hadn't gotten her to talk then . . . what if she never did? What if she had married him? It might have been years before anyone knew what was wrong . . ."

We both shudder at the idea. In the silence, I am again being grateful that I was there at the right time, and also renewing my vow to never be so arrogant that I start thinking like The Arsewipe did. I would never treat Ginny in such a way, and it's not just because she'd kill me if I did. It's because it's _wrong_.

_When you love someone, you want what's best for them, not for you._

I was sure I'd only thought it, but Ginny blinks at me in surprise, and I realize I said it out loud. She doesn't say anything in return, leaving me wondering what she's thinking. Then it doesn't matter, because Ginny is standing up and coming over to my chair, and she's straddling my lap and kissing me. I am not complaining.

"You're so _good_, Harry," Ginny says, kissing all over my face and sounding almost frantic. "I don't know how you manage it. You're just so noble, all the time, and . . . Mmm . . ."

I chuckle, which makes her squirm because my mouth is currently latched onto her neck. "And being noble is sexy, is it?"

"Yes," she growls, kissing me so hard that our teeth scrape.

Her fists grip into my hair, and my heart skips a beat. My hand is on the collar of her shirt, and I accidentally yank on it, baring her shoulder. I dive for it, planting sucking kisses all along the exposed skin and sliding that offending hand _inside_ her shirt instead of _on_ it. It hasn't been ten years yet, okay? And did I mention that she's bloody gorgeous?

* * *

"There's my Bug," I say, and I can't help the stupid smile I get when I see the little boy come out of the fireplace in Andromeda's arms and leave them to come directly into my arms. Having someone who loves me and trusts me the way that Teddy does is the most I could have asked for out of my life. At one point, I considered myself lucky just to _have_ life—but these days, I'm starting to think being alive wouldn't be worth it if I couldn't have a Bug Hug whenever I wanted one.

"Thanks," I say to her.

"You know you can have him over anytime," she says, and ducks back into the fire, seeming to realize that it's just Teddy I wanted.

"How come you wanted me to come over?" Teddy asks me immediately.

I guess he picked up on Andromeda's surprise, which shouldn't surprise _me_. He's good at sensing these things. My day off is in two days, and she wasn't expecting me to take him until then. But I'm finished with work for the day, and I want him with me.

"I missed you, that's all," I tell him, a hand on his back to keep him close to me.

"I miss you, too," he tells me, half-shy even though it's me.

"Love you, Bug," I mutter, squeezing him until I'm practically crushing him to death.

"Why?"

I suck in a breath, and draw back, keeping hold of his shoulders but making sure I can look into his face. "What do you mean, why?"

He shrugs. "Grandma has to, cause she's my grandma. But you don't _have_ to. How come you do?"

"Why would you ask me that, Teddy?" I feel like I should be cautious. Something's up, here. I sit down in a chair and bring him into my lap.

He hangs his head and mumbles, "Nevermind."

I catch him by the chin and make him look at me. "Hey," I say as gently as possible. "You don't have to hide anything from me. You know that. It seems like you don't feel very lovable today. Can you tell me why?"

He picks at the hem of his shirt, letting his hair hang in his eyes. "I like playing with Parry—" I scramble, then remember that Parry is short for Paracelsus, and he's the grandson of one of Andromeda's friends "—but Mrs. Dinklage said we can't play anymore because I might be contagious."

Sheer rage grips me so hard that I have to take my hands off of Teddy in case I accidentally hurt him. I cast about for something to keep me from jumping up and hunting Mrs. Dinklage down right now. I want to. I really, really want to. But the Bug doesn't need a godfather who's in jail.

Oh, shit. There goes my anger, and here comes grief. Thinking about Sirius will do that.

I cuddle Teddy against me, pretty sure now that I'm not going to harm anyone. "Did your grandma talk to Mrs. Dinklage?"

"I don't think they can play tea anymore," he says, feeling stiff against me. "I didn't mean to be sick and make Grandma get mad at her friends."

I let out a slow breath. Again, I'm not sure how to comfort him through something like this. Again, Remus would know better than I would. But I was just thinking about Sirius, wasn't I? Remus actually _was_ a werewolf, unlike Teddy, and he still found friends who would do anything for him. I just have to be _here_ to be of comfort to the Bug.

"It wasn't your fault."

He sighs.

"Mrs. Dinklage didn't listen to your grandma, because I know she would have told her that you wouldn't hurt anybody. Mrs. Dinklage is the one who was at fault, because she was too selfish to listen. Okay?"

Teddy shrugs minutely.

"Are you going to miss Parry a lot?"

He nods. "Uncle Bill and _Tante_ Fleur said I can still play with Victoire, though. I like her okay, even if she's a girl."

"Bill and Fleur are very nice people," I say, relieved beyond words that my "family" is supporting us.

"Uncle Bill said he knows what it's like to feel funny on the full moon. He said his face got like that because of a werewolf."

"That's true. Uncle Bill probably knows what it's like for you better than anyone else does."

I'm so retarded. How could I have forgotten this? Bill could probably give Teddy so much reassurance that I don't know how to give. And apparently he has been. Sometimes the Weasley family can still surprise me with how great they are.

"But Harry," Teddy says with a slight whine, "that means werewolves _are_ bad. You said they weren't."

"That's not quite what I said. I said your dad wasn't. What I told you was that werewolves are people just like everyone else, and they have to make a choice to be good or bad like other people do."

"Mrs. Dinklage doesn't think so."

"Mrs. Dinklage can shove that where the sun doesn't shine."

"Mrs. Dinklage is stupid, cause I'm not even a werewolf anyway," he says crossly.

"That's true. But I'd love you even if you were," I say lightly, preparing to put him down and move to another room.

But Teddy turns to look at me, and he still looks very troubled. "Why do you love me?"

"Because you're perfect." It's the first thing that comes into my head, but it's the best I've got. I don't know how to condense love down into something that he will understand. And do I really know, myself? I went through all of this, trying to figure out why I love Ginny, but it never occurred to me to do the same thing with Bug. Perhaps I should have. I'm changing my entire life, for him.

And that's why I wanted him here, to be honest. To try to set it in stone, that he's worth all this, worth the direction I'm heading and worth what I might lose in the process.

He presses his face against me. I can't tell if he's crying, or if he's just embarrassed. "But why do you come over when it's a full moon to stay with me? That's when I'm sick, and you shouldn't come over then. Nobody else likes me then."

"Because you need me. I always want to be there when you need me. I'm not afraid of you, Bug. I would _never_ be afraid of you. I feel bad when you're sick, because I wish I could make you well again. But I would never stay away when you needed me, just because I felt bad. I love you too much for that."

"But _why_?" he whispers. His fingers are digging into my arms.

_If you screw this up, Potter, you will never be able to make up for it. You'd better get this right._

"Let me think. At first, I think it was because you were so important to me. You were my chance to do things right. I don't think you'll understand that, but I feel like I let a lot of people down a few years ago, and I thought that taking responsibility for you was my chance to fix some of those mistakes. I promised your parents I would take care of you, and I was determined to do that no matter what."

He sighs, but doesn't even come close to letting go of me.

"That's not the end of it, though. That was just the beginning. It turns out that you're a smart and kind little boy, with a big heart that inspires everyone who meets you, and you are fixing _me,_ instead. I love watching you grow. I'm so proud of you because you're learning to read really well and it makes me think of your dad. You're patient, the way he was. And you're good at making people smile, like your mum was. But you're more than that. It's hard for me to say everything that makes me love you, because there's so _much_. And some of it, I think you're too young to really understand."

"You could try."

He needs this. I can't think about screwing up, I just have to do it. "I think maybe it's because you love me, Teddy," I say at last. It feels right, to say this, and some of my own tension begins to release itself, a little at a time. This is truth, absolute truth, every word of it. And this level of honesty is amazing to achieve.

"I've never had anyone who loves me the way you do," I tell him. "You laugh when I make stupid jokes, and you hug me whenever you want to. You come to me when you're sad. You know that when you come running toward me, I'm going to catch you. I've had a lot of people who trusted me to save them, but you're the only one I know who trusts me to take care of him. You just don't know how special that makes me feel. I know how shy you are around other people. But you let me see all of you, without being worried how I'll make you feel. You believe in me, Bug, and I _need_ you because of that. Your trust and belief make me feel like I _can_ be everything you think I am. You're just so easy to love."

"It's _not_ easy," he whispers, doubtless latching onto the only thing in that whole speech that he actually understood.

I have him tucked right under my chin, one of my arms wrapped around him, while my other hand cups the back of his head and keeps him cuddled there on my shoulder. I can smell him, and he smells like peanut butter and the dirt he's probably been playing in. I put my face in his hair and breathe it in. No meal that Molly has ever cooked and no perfume that Ginny has ever worn smells as perfect as he does.

"Being with you makes me happier than anything else in the entire world," I whisper back.

I didn't know it was true until I said it. But now I'm certain that my new goals in life are worth sacrificing for, if it comes to that. I don't know when it became this way, maybe not until just this minute, but he's the most important thing I've ever had, and I will do anything to make sure he knows that.

I rock him back and forth while he cries, and I wish he was an infant again. Back then, I would just have to lift him up a little higher and pat his back and make him belch, and the tears would stop. But what he needs isn't so simple anymore—and really, things with Teddy have never been all that _simple_, compared to other kids. But I would never want it any other way. I meant it. He's perfect, to me.

I'm not exactly immune to his confusion and pain, and I find myself choking back a few tears, too. It's weird. I don't remember crying much, even when my own pain was far worse than this. But lately I've felt like an emotional wreck. It's bothering me. Maybe something's gone wrong in me, I think wildly. I wouldn't be surprised if one too many stresses has finally snapped something and I've gone barmy. (You know, doctor, that look you're giving me makes it seem like you think I went around the bend years ago. Er, well, you're probably right.)

Eventually, Teddy and I make our way into the kitchen (there is a brief detour into the loo to get cleaned up, but I'm too polite to mention how gross crying can be when little boys do it) so that we can cook together. It's always fun to do that with him, and it makes me feel like I'm learning how to take care of him. Since we've both already had dinner, we bake cookies. Sugar cookies are so simple that they're almost impossible to screw up. And I have food dye so we can give them many interesting colours. It even gives me the chance to have an impromptu bit of schooling for Teddy, by showing him how to mix colours to achieve a new one.

Teddy loves it, and his enjoyment is the thing that really makes it permanent, in my mind. If I can make him smile until his face lights up my kitchen, then I know I'm doing something right. It adds to the fun that Teddy is experimenting with the colours of his hair along with the cookies.

"So if I mix red with _yellow_—" Pop. Orange hair.

"And if I mix red and _green_— that's a gross colour!" Now the hair on his head looks disturbingly like something I once found in his diaper.

"Cause green is just blue and yellow, and so I'm really mixing up orange and purple, and _those_ don't go together! I get it!"

"Was my favourite colour really turquoise when I was a baby? You didn't make that up?"

"I did _not_ call you Hey-hee!"

"Don't tell Grandma I put peas in your hair, okay?"

"I know I was a baby, but she'll scold me for my manners anyway!"

I love that I can tell him about what he was like when he was a baby. I'm glad that I was there, that I have the photographs, the memories, all of it. If he can't have his parents, he should still have this in his life. I didn't have it. I barely remember my childhood anymore, beyond a few confusing bursts of accidental magic and a handful of particularly frightening episodes of abuse from my relatives. I don't have pictures, or anyone who cared to take them. I'm glad I get to be that, for Teddy.

We get a batch of oddly-coloured cookies in the oven, then we sit with a spoonful of dough at the table while they're baking.

"Uncle Ron says you're his best man next week," Teddy says suddenly.

"Yeah, I am," I say, swallowing my mouthful of cookie batter.

"And Luna was Neville's best man when he got married, right?"

"That's right."

"Even though she's a girl? Why's it called best man if it's a girl sometimes? What is best man?"

I try to explain, as best I can, the reasons that a man chooses someone to stand next to him when he gets married. It needs to be someone he's close to, who approves of the person he's marrying, and who the groom can trust to help him during the ceremony. For instance, Ron is going to be a basket case, and I am going to have to keep him calm and keep track of all the details of the ceremony. I tell him that normally the best man also has the wedding rings while the ring bearer has fake ones—but as Teddy is their ring bearer, they trust him to keep track of the real ones.

Teddy, spoonful of dough still in his mouth, comes to me and leans into my side.

"You have to be my best man when I get old enough to get married," he says solemnly.

"Sure, Bug. If that's what you want when you get to that age, then I will."

I keep to myself that by the time Teddy is old enough to marry—and please God let that not be for about forty years—he'll probably want someone else to fill that role. But who knows? It's a long time before then, and the buzzer is telling me that our purple and red and green and turquoise cookies are done.

* * *

After the amount of fussing Ron did, I would have expected his wedding to be a disaster.

"_Is my tie on straight, Harry? Oh, Merlin, if it's not on straight, if I look stupid—"_

"_I'm starving! I forgot to eat breakfast! What if my stomach starts growling or something?"_

"_Oh, no, I forgot the rings, didn't I? What will Hermione say if when I don't have the rings?"_

"_Did someone remember a chair for Hagrid? He'll break the others into matchsticks!"_

"_Are you sure Hermione wants to marry me? Really, Harry, are you sure?"_

It's actually no big deal, once we get down to it. I keep him calm with the ease of long practice—he was always like this before Quidditch games, after all—and since I was thinking about all this with Bug last week, I made sure I was on top of everything he might ask about. I keep hold of the rings until just before the ceremony, and put a Sticking Charm on them when I give them over to Teddy's safekeeping. After all the fuss I expected Molly to make of this wedding, things are actually fairly simple. It's at the Burrow, just like Bill's was, and Ginny and I walk up the aisle between chairs with newly-trimmed grass swishing under our feet. There's an latticework arch where the officiant waits that's covered with the twining roses Neville coaxed into growing. Luna walks with George just ahead of us, and I feel a pang, wondering how it must feel to be watching still more of her friends getting married when she'd expected to be married herself by now.

But I put all that out of my mind, hold my breath while Teddy and Victoire walk toward us with an adorably serious attitude, and then am forced to hold it yet again when I see Hermione at last. Ginny whispered to me just before we walked that she looked beautiful, but she was underestimating. Hermione's old-fashioned gown, all lace and delicacy, is perfect, and I've never seen her so happy. She's so serene under that lacy veil. Like she knows that this will be perfect. She's been waiting for this day for so long, and even her hair has bowed in miraculous obedience. Ron, however, looks like he might puke, so I have to casually touch my wand in my pocket and cast a very mild Cheering Charm on him.

Everything goes off without a single hitch, even though I worried about what kind of prank George might pull. Molly weeps almost on cue, and nobody's really that surprised when Ron gets choked up right behind her. Really, it's all one big whirlwind of joy and contentment . . . until the moment I was dreading comes.

It's time for my speech. We're sitting around the tables, glasses at the ready for the toast, and it's time for me to stand up and say something.

I can practically feel a hand around my throat.

When was the last time I had this many eyes on me, caring about what I was going to say? I try to focus on the fact that I'm going to be talking about Ron, not fucking Voldemort or something, but my palms still feel clammy. I've been keeping my nose to the grindstone the past few years. I'm an Auror, not a celebrity. I'd sort of forgotten how much I hate it when people look at me with expectation in their eyes.

Ron, sitting right beside me, puts his hand on my arm in sympathy, under the table where no one can see it. He understands why I look so trapped and nervous, and he would forgive me if I can't do this. I tried to prepare something, but it's all gone out of my head now. But my best friend's hand on my arm, offering _me_ sympathy at _his_ wedding reception, is what gives me the ability to get up and tell the world why I stood next to him today.

"Ron was the first friend I ever had. We bonded over Chocolate Frogs on our first ride aboard the Hogwarts Express. Some of you may think that's not a bond that can stand the test of time and the obstacles we've faced—but Ron's friendship was what led me to Gryffindor House over Slytherin, and I would not be here today if that had not happened. All of you know at least some of the challenges that the 'heroic' Harry Potter faced during his years at Hogwarts, but what you _should_ know is that I never faced any of them without Ronald Weasley beside me.

"His heroism is much greater than my own, because he never received any accolades for what he did. He stood up to his worst fears, plunged into unknowable danger, and walked into battles with experienced Death Eaters, and he did it over and over again. He did that for me. I can't pretend to know why he'd risk so much for a skinny kid with broken spectacles and a talent for pissing people off, but he risked everything.

"It wasn't always danger and darkness and doom, of course. It's not like we _never_ went out after curfew or snuck into the school kitchens. There were Quidditch games and chess games and games of Exploding Snap. There were late nights of frantic studying because we put it off too long—and Ron's beautiful bride was always there to scold us for that—and nights when things seemed too overwhelming so we just skived off everything and went flying.

"There was less of that, as time went on. Less fun and more pain. But Ron was always there. Sometimes even when I didn't want him to be, when I'd rather be miserable and alone, Ron would force me to remember that we were friends. And it didn't end, when the war ended. After it was finally over, Ron was still there. I had to struggle to figure out what I was going to be, and he was always with me—that is, when he wasn't helping George with the joke shop or babysitting his little niece, or any of the thousand ways he's proved how generous he can be with himself. Somehow, he's managed to become a great man—something nobody would have suspected from the kid who crashed his dad's car into a tree and nearly got us expelled, but something I knew was possible, that first time he put his life in danger for me at the age of eleven.

"And all of that has given me the authority to say this today: You don't really know what you're in for, Hermione. You wouldn't _believe_ the snoring."

I pause for the laughter, and I see that Ron's face is red to his ears, and that Hermione has tears in her eyes. I try to speak again, then I have to stop and clear my throat. I guess Hermione isn't the only one about to cry.

"No, that's not what I want to say. Hermione _does_ know what she's in for, because she was there, too. She knows just as well as I do how amazing Ron really is. What I mean by everything I just told you lot is this: Ron, you're my best mate. You've been right beside me during every wonderful and awful thing that's happened in my life. And the chance to turn around and be the one beside _you_ today is an honour. More than an honour. You've been my best man since we were eleven. Thank you for letting me be yours in return."

I raise my glass and manage to warble out, "To my personal hero." I reclaim my seat while everyone's applauding, and if Ron and I both clear our throats and thump each other on the back a little too hard, who's to see it except the wedding party here at the table? None of them are going to judge us for it.

I briefly catch Hermione's eye to let her know that I wasn't leaving her out. Ron deserved that speech from me, but my bond with Hermione came just a short time later, over the unconscious body of a mountain troll, and she's stood up to everything thrown against it just as much as Ron has. I have more than one hero in my life, and I'll overcome my embarrassment enough to toast her as well. In a minute. When I'm not so choked up.

Nobody told me being best man was so bloody _emotional._


	10. Chapter 9 and a half

_Holy shit, you guys. Seriously. It's 2011. Holy shit. I never meant to put this story on hold for so long. I hate my life sometimes. I have totally let you all down, and I'm a horrible person, and anything else you want me to say. I'm sorry. But guess what? I'm back! I'm working on a new chapter for this story, and I'm excited about it again! Honestly, I needed the time away to work on other stuff and get my creative juices flowing again. By the way, I don't know if any of you read manga at all, but the stories that I was working on while I was away from this fic were based on the works of a mangaka known as CLAMP, whom I love. And I totally believe that Freefall is the best thing I've ever written, and I may adapt it into an original work at some point. So you might want to read it. Or not. I don't mind._

_Anyway, I am working on Going Home again. I wanted to announce it and see if I even still had any readers out there. After putting this story on hiatus for so long, I'm not sure anyone even cares anymore. But just in case, I have this little filler to ensnare you into my world once again. After some of the reviews I got on Chapter 9, I felt that it was completely necessary to write out Harry's speech for Hermione. I'm going to go back and insert it into the end of Chapter 9 later, but for now, I present it to you with my promise that Chapter 10 is coming very soon. Honestly. I'm working on it right now..._

* * *

"I'd like to say that Hermione is the sister I never had, but . . ." I swallow back my tears, which seem to be relentless today. "The thing is, I'm not sure even a sister would love as unconditionally, or make the sacrifices that Hermione has made. She went far beyond the call of sister or best friend. By virtue of hard work, intelligence, compassion, and sheer bloody-mindedness, she became the greatest hero of our recent war. I look up to her in ways too numerous to count. Why she chose to stand by such bumbling fools as Ron or I over the years, I'll never know." Pause for chuckle. Mustn't forget the touches of drama. "But nor will I forget. You see before you today a vision in lace and ivory, a woman who is known the world over for her brilliance and determination—but I still see that bushy-haired little girl who was brilliant before anyone noticed. The girl who broke all the rules and even stole from a teacher for me. The girl who stayed up late every night to help her idiot friend study, when she probably could have taken her NEWTs at age fifteen. The girl who sacrificed everything and walked through darkness without complaint. She was by my side every step of the way, and if I was allowed to have a Best Girl in my party, Hermione would be it. Ron, mate, you're more than lucky, and after all this time, you know that better than I do. She'd be taking a step down to be with any man. But I think she's lucky as well, because when she reaches for the stars, Ron will let her stand on his shoulders to get her a little closer."

Er, I think I've made Ron cry. That's awkward. Time to wrap this up.

"Congratulations, to both of you. Oh, and Ron? Next time she gets a pet that hates your pet, bring it to my office immediately."

That draws a chuckle from the bride and groom, and a lot of puzzled looks from everyone else. But who cares what they think? I'm toasting Hermione, not them. And she's beaming at me, so I guess it worked. Hell, now I think I've made myself cry.


	11. Chapter 10

**_A/N:_**

_Look who's back, bitches!_

_Ahem. I meant to say, thank you. I'm overwhelmed by the number of people who are still out there waiting for this update. I don't deserve you, but I'm glad you're here. My humble thanks is all I can offer. (Well, that, and this shiny new chapter.)_

* * *

Chapter Ten

Rediscovery

Victoire's fourth birthday party was great fun, all told. She's going through this phase where she feels the need to torment my godson, and she refused to speak English to him at all, nattering away happily in French until he was dying of frustration and the rest of us were howling with laughter. The May weather was so beautiful that the only time we spent indoors was when someone ran into the kitchen to fetch more drinks or bring out the birthday cake.

I personally sat on a blanket with Ron and Hermione and relaxed, watching Bill and Ginny play with Victoire and her little friends. It's mostly family, at things like this, but Victoire's got a couple of playmates from somewhere who were also in attendance. Angelina's pregnant, so Molly spent the whole day fussing over her whenever she wasn't helping Fleur with food. Ginny was so busy playing raucous games with the children that I felt absolutely no pressure, no eyes watching her and me and wondering when it was going to happen.

It was the most relaxing, comfortable, uneventful day of my life. I felt deliriously happy. The kind of happy that made me just as worried as my inclination to cry, lately. These ups and downs in my moods have honestly made me fear that I must be losing my mind. I don't know when I started losing my emotional equilibrium, but it seems I have. Maybe wedding season turned me into a girl?

And that has led me to where I am now. Pacing in Ron and Hermione's living room and trying to explain that I might have gone round the twist. Hermione is sitting on the sofa with a bunch of paperwork spread out on her coffee table, giving me that frowning look that says she's listening intently. Ron is in the kitchen, a half-drunk glass of milk sort of forgotten in his hand.

Even as I'm ranting about my uncontrollable mental state, I'm feeling rather comforted. They returned from their honeymoon last month just in time for Teddy's sixth birthday, and they hadn't changed in the slightest. I suppose I was mildly afraid that they would. But here they are, just the same as they've always been. The only difference a month of marriage has made is that Ron has finally removed the last of his clothing and his extra toothbrush from the Burrow.

"So . . ." I trail off, feeling sheepish about my rampaging around my friends' living room. "What do you guys think?"

Hermione stands up and walks slowly toward me. I think I'm a little afraid she's going to Body-Bind me and cart me off to the long-term ward at St. Mungo's. (You think I've been tense and defensive _every_ time we chat, doctor? What reason would I have to act like that?)

Instead, Hermione holds my hand. "Welcome back, Harry Potter," she says softly.

In my confusion, I look at Ron, hoping that since the person who has confused me is his wife, he will be able to explain. Instead, he is wearing an expression that simultaneously gives the sense that he is overjoyed and that the milk he was drinking has gone sour.

"Huh?" is what I settle for. (My eloquence has, indeed, been occasion for comment over the years! I'm thrilled you noticed!)

"It's been such a long time . . ." Hermione says, still sounding soft and still confusing the hell out of me.

"Ron, mate, I changed my mind. It's your wife that's gone bonkers, not me."

He shakes his head slowly, sets his glass down, and comes over to us. "No, she's right. It's just, I really thought you might not be able to come back, anymore."

Okay, so _they're_ clearly on the same page. While I'm apparently reading a different book entirely.

"It's been so long since _what_? I haven't gone anywhere."

I have to pull my hand out of Hermione's so I can cross my arms with proper indignation. I'm starting to wonder if they're just having me on.

"Harry, you— well, do you remember what you were like, your first few years of school?"

"Er, not especially. Kind of like I am now, only less prone to joke about death?"

"Harry, what you're talking about . . . This used to be normal for you. When we were younger, you felt _everything_ deeply, and you expressed it. You changed, after a while."

"Not that we blame you, mate," Ron adds. "You had every right."

"I did?"

"It started when Cedric Diggory died," Hermione says, her voice firming up, like she thinks she'd better be a little less quiet and sympathetic now that we're talking about Cedric. And she's right, I couldn't take that soft voice she was using, not about this. "You started, erm, you—"

"You were shutting down," Ron breaks in when he sees Hermione struggling. "And when Sirius died, it got bad. There was a couple of years when it seemed like the only thing you _could_ feel was anger. I mean, unless Ginny was around, then you were happy—but it was like you were completely focused on being happy, so that had us worried as well."

"And then you separated from Ginny."

"To focus on the Horcruxes," I protest, the only words I'm able to come up with that don't stick to the roof of my mouth.

"Like I said, we don't blame you."

"We understood what was happening. You needed to be a certain person, act in a certain way, or you'd have gone mad. You had to turn yourself off, especially your ability to grieve, and that process included the feelings you had for Ginny. We all did it, to some extent. But it was different for you. You were really—_hard_, I think, back then."

I'm speechless. Utterly floored. I don't know what to make of any of this.

"We sort of reckoned it worked too well," Ron says with a shrug. "You've been better, but not, er, I dunno, not _real_ the past few years. Like maybe you didn't know how to turn your feelings back on."

"Oh, Harry, don't look so betrayed," Hermione says in distress. "We didn't want to bring it up before because we wanted to give you some space. We hoped that with enough time, you'd heal on your own. And it seems like you have. I'm sorry that it seems so confusing for you, but please believe me when I say that nothing you're experiencing right now is abnormal. Everyone is supposed to cry when they're sad and laugh when they're happy. Even you, Harry. We were so worried that you'd gotten too lost in being 'Harry Potter' to be whole."

"It's just my name," I blurt out, and it seems to be my only defense. "It still would have been my name if all that shit hadn't happened." I feel like I'm repeating something I heard somewhere else, but I can't think of it now. "Of _course_ I'm a real person."

I don't know why my heart is pounding and why I feel sick. I don't know why I feel like I've been attacked. All I know is that I don't _want_ to hear that this is normal, that I'm going to be this exhausted for the rest of my life, and I _especially_ don't want to hear that I've been _not normal_ for so long . . . Who really knows what normal is, anyway? (I _know_ that's your job, doctor, but you _really_ need to shut it.)

"Listen, mate, we didn't mean that you did anything wrong," Ron says, alarmed.

I'm stunned by my desire to tell him to shut the fuck up. I have to get out of here.

"I need to think . . . I'm going home . . ."

I duck into their Floo and ignore the way Ron reaches for Hermione's shoulder and the way her hand rises up to clutch his. Seeing other people so _together_ like that has started to piss me off. I do need to think, alone. Kreacher appears to ask me if he can do anything for me, but I snap at him to leave me be and stumble upstairs.

What if they're right?

I go to the room where Sirius used to keep Buckbeak, because in some obscure way I think this room is more capable than the rest of the house in dealing with inner demons. This room is quiet and almost empty, containing only the chair that Sirius used to sit in when he retreated up here—everything else was removed to make room for the hippogriff, and I've never corrected it. I needed for there to be some place that Sirius had left a tangible mark on, the same way I can't find it in myself to do anything to my family's former house in Godric's Hollow.

What if they're right?

It churns up my stomach until I feel like it burns, and my throat aches, and my eyes won't stay open because I have to shut them against the force of the maelstrom in my head. It's horribly uncomfortable, but I still do it. I open up all those memories, every scrap of them. I have to think about myself, just my _self_, in a completely honest way. I hate it. Who gives a shit about me, about that inner self of mine? What does it matter? I would be happy to go on stubbornly ignoring it, but I can't anymore. Ron and Hermione aren't going to let me. It's Teddy's fault, maybe. Loving that little boy is making that self wake up, and I have to pay attention to it.

Waking up feels like the right thing to call it. I wasn't allowed to have feelings when I was a kid. I was barely acknowledged as a person at all. So when I found out I was a wizard, when I came to Hogwarts . . . I could never truly explain to anyone all that it meant. It meant I was real, just as real as everyone else, and I was allowed to be a person. Hermione was right, I _did_ feel things deeply, back then. _Everything_, just like she said. Because it was so new, and I was wallowing in the freedom of it.

Then I discovered that I didn't really have as much freedom as I'd have liked. People watched my every move, and some of those people wanted me dead. And then those people started killing my friends. I couldn't deal with that. How could I have dealt with it? There was no way, no _time_, I was right in the middle of a war for my life and the lives of everyone I cared about and things were so dire—

Holy shit, holy shit, that means they're right, doesn't it? I _did_ shut down. I had no coping mechanism, so I just didn't try to cope. I retreated behind this silence and anger, and I tried not to think about any of it. I try, now, to think about what it was like at the end, but my mind pulls back from that like I've touched a hot coal, and I even hear myself hissing in pain. But I _do_ know, I remember . . . Looking at the bodies . . . Looking at Fred, at Remus, and at Tonks, and even looking at Severus Snape . . . I barely even registered all that at the time. I was sleepwalking, by then. I was going to die, so none of it could penetrate me. But then I lived. It should have changed after that, but it didn't. I think I kept sleepwalking straight past the end of that terrible, desperate night and straight on into the rest of my life.

When did I finally start thinking about the rest of my life? When have I actually sat down and acknowledged that things are over, and I can move on?

I'm not sure I ever did.

Oh, sure, I started doing other things. I got my NEWTS, and I learned how to drink and to curse, and I learned how to change a baby's nappies, but . . . I've been tackling my life like it's a problem I have to solve, all this time. I had to be an Auror because I had to be something, and I needed Kingsley's help because like it or not, I have to be famous. Solve the problem of proposing to Ginny, solve the problem of Teddy's illness, solve— I dunno, solve _me_?

Like I said. It's the Bug's fault. He made me love being around him, and he made me start acknowledging all the little moments that I had with him. He made me remember that I'm alive, and that life is full of those moments. There's a lot of painful ones with him that there might not be with another child, but I wouldn't trade him for the world.

This isn't fair. I didn't ask to be woken up. I didn't ask to face this moment, where I have to say to myself that it's all over.

Still, maybe I'd better. It's either that or fear going over the edge of madness, isn't it?

"It's over," I say aloud, feeling stupid and sort of cautious. "The war ended. I'm just Harry now. And I'm allowed to be."

I still feel stupid, but once I say that, I get up and leave Buckbeak's room and quietly close the door behind me. For all that I feel stupid, I think I feel better.

* * *

"You seem very distracted, Harry," Luna observes, looking up from a glossy brochure in her hands. I'm happy, in a selfish and vindictive way, when I notice that her hair has grown out well enough to fall into her eyes when she leans forward. "Are you all right?"

"Wrackspurts, I expect," I smile at her.

She smiles back, the smile with the slightly dreamy quality that she displays less and less often, these days. "I know you're joking, but I still plan to prove their existence, you know."

"I'm looking forward to that day," I assure her, and start to return my attention to the brochure I'm holding.

"Harry. Are you all right?" she says, with no sign that she knows she's repeating herself.

"Yes, I am. In fact, I think I'm better than all right, at least if Ron and Hermione are to be believed."

"Have they given any sign that they shouldn't be?" she asks guilelessly.

"No," I laugh as I reply, then, feeling hesitant about it, I try to explain what's been happening in my head over the past few days. It takes longer than I expected, but Luna is patient in a way that I've never seen anyone else express patience. Her eyes are sharp on me, her hands are incredibly still while retaining the brochure. It's as though she's frozen in time while she waits for me. So I try to speed it up, because it makes me feel absurdly guilty to have her sitting there locked into position just to hear me angst about my fucking emotional state. "Anyway, I just finally said aloud that I know the war is over. I have a life ahead of me, and it's time for me to figure out what I want from it, you know?"

"I thought what you wanted from it was to be an Auror and to marry Ginny," she says calmly.

"I— I thought it was, but I'm not sure anymore. These days, the only times I feel like I'm doing anything _right_ is when I'm with Bug. Or, well, that's not true, not exactly," I stumble over this as I realize something else, something new. "I think this feels right, as well." I hold up my brochure to illustrate my point. "Doing things for you, being your friend . . . This is nice, for me. Feels like something I _want_ to do instead of something I'm expected to do."

Luna gives me an incredibly sweet smile, but doesn't seem to have anything to say. That's happened a lot, recently. She's gotten a lot quieter. Well, okay, she's never been particularly _loud_, but she at least used to speak when spoken to. Now she seems to hold a lot of things inside herself. I know that some of that can be attributed to other influences, like the war, like being kept in a dungeon to compel her father—but we all know that most of it is due to The Arsewipe.

Urgh. Not him again.

"Have you seen anything you like?" I ask her, nodding at the glossy paper in her hands.

She sets it down, almost like she'd forgotten she was holding it. "Not this one," she says quietly. "Maybe this one . . ." She reaches out for a new brochure, and then she sighs and rubs her eyes with her hand. "I didn't expect it to be this difficult. I think perhaps—" She shakes her head.

"Yes, what is it?" I ask, as gently as possible. I don't want to make it obvious that I've noticed how quiet she's gotten. She probably thinks she's done a better job of pretending.

"I think it's difficult because no place is really right," she admits. "The right place for him is home, and I'm just looking for the least awful out of the wrong places."

"Why?" I frown. "Did he say something like that?"

Luna blinks slowly, clearly thinking hard. "No. He's the one who brought it up first, actually. He was feeling very lucid, and he apologized for being a burden, and asked if it might not be better for him to a professional caregiver. So I said I'd look at some rest homes, and he said that was fine." She drops her face into her hands. "I just hate the whole idea," she says, muffled. "That I'm looking for some place to foist him off on, like I don't want him anymore. And sometimes he doesn't really understand and he gets angry at me for talking about it."

I put down the rest home brochure I was perusing so that I can put my hand on Luna's arm and pull her hand away from her face. I've been feeling weird about looking at places for her father, because how would I know which one would be right for Mr. Lovegood? But _this_, this is the reason I am the right person to be here. Luna shows more of herself to me than she does to anyone else.

"Hey," I say softly, and cup her chin in my hand to make her look at me. "We've talked about this. You and me, and you and your father. You have no reason to feel guilty, or ashamed, or anything of the sort. Okay?"

She nods, just slightly, and I let go of her chin. I pick up her hand, though.

"Maybe I should go," I say quietly, and speak over the denial that sparks in her eyes, "so that you can look these over with him. I know he gets to say yes or no to what you might pick out, but you might feel better—you _both_ might feel better—if you look at the options together."

"It's possible," she ventures.

"I know you've gotten used to making the business decisions on your own, but this isn't something that has to be decided today, right? You can take your time, and look at these when he's feeling up to it."

Luna squeezes my hand gratefully. "You're very insightful, aren't you?"

"Wonder when that happened?" I laugh, pulling away from her, the serious spell broken by my own discomfort. Me, insightful?

"It's been happening very gradually," Luna says soberly. "But I think you've really allowed yourself to become more mature since Teddy became ill, if that's what you're asking."

Merlin. I sometimes forget how seriously Luna can take flippant statements. Speaking of insight . . .

"You're right, Harry, I'll wait and look these over with Daddy. But you don't have to go, if you don't want to, I'd hate for you to think you can only come over when I need something. Would you like something to drink?"

I shake my head in negation. "Didn't you say earlier that you have a lot of work to do for the magazine today? I know that you're busy, I can go."

Relief flashes in her expression for just a moment, before she asks, "You don't mind?"

"No, I don't. But don't work too late, all right?" I add, taking a look at the shadows under her eyes. "You'll get so distracted that you'll try to organize the entire issue tonight, but you need sleep."

She gives me a real Luna Smile. "Thank you for being my friend, Harry."

"Thanks for letting me," I say in return, just for something to say. I guess I mean it, though. I _do_ enjoy being around her, because the commitment I made to my friendship with Luna _was_ so purely my own choice and not driven by other factors.

Then I go home to prepare for night duty at work. I kind of like night duty. I've always suspected I was what you might call a night owl, given my penchant for getting up to have adventures in the middle of the night and wanting to sleep in late all the time. But there's something about sitting around the office, sharing a cuppa with the other night Aurors and companionably griping about paperwork. There's a lot of impromptu duelling practice, story-swapping, and fact-checking in the Defensive books and papers. I probably learn as much during night duty as I used to learn in a DADA class period at Hogwarts, although some of it is of dubious usefulness.

Even more fun (for me) is the fact that Ron is far enough into his training that he gets night duty assignments from time to time, and tonight just happens to be one of those times. I said that we swap stories, but when Ron and I are working together, we end up telling most of the stories. It's a bit therapeutic, honestly. The good wizards and witches of the Auror division are the only people in the world who know the truth of who I am instead of the rumours. Ron and I have made it pretty clear that we were idiotic kids with more luck than sense. My partners on patrols laugh when people ask for my autograph, these days.

I'm getting a cup of tea when I hear everyone start laughing uproariously behind me. I turn around to see Ron winking at me, and another trainee named Zachary is practically laying on the table.

"M-m-moral f-fiber!" Alicia gasps out, setting them all to howling.

Oh. The Triwizard Tournament, then.

"Oh, shut up," I mutter, sitting down and making a creditable effort at not blushing. "I was fourteen and I thought my best friends were drowning."

"You know, it's awfully sweet that the thing you'd miss most in the world is him," Zachary says, popping up off the table with a grin.

Ron groans.

"Well, we all know what young boys get up to at boarding school, don't we?" Zachary leers.

"God," I sigh. "Can't a bloke have a best friend anymore?"

A round of chuckles and elbow nudging. I know they're only joking, so I don't take offense.

"We got enough of this from our dormmates back _then_," I grumble. "Which is ironic, since Ron and I were the straightest ones one of the bunch."

Ron freezes, and gives me a slightly shocked look.

"You heard Zachary," I say, enjoying this now. "What boys get up to at boarding school. Why do you _think_ Seamus and Dean always went to the showers at the same time?"

Ron is gaping at me.

"Of course, they mostly fantasized about getting you in there with them, but I told them you wouldn't go for it," I say, sipping my tea, making my voice as unconcerned as possible.

Ron chokes, tries to speak, can't quite manage it.

Which is, of course, the moment I burst out laughing and set off the whole group. Ron sits back in his chair with a weak, "Bloody hell, Harry," and a wry grin on his face.

"I love winding you up," I tell him. "You should have seen yourself just now."

He throws a wadded up piece of parchment at me and takes a deep drink of the coffee he was neglecting.

I turn to Alicia. "Wonder what he'd do if I told him it was actually Ernie Macmillan who wanted to get him off in the shower?"

The spray of coffee actually hits the ceiling. I'm impressed.

After a while, we start trying to get some work done. Trainees have to write reports of their role-playing training sessions, because it's good practice for the day they have to report actual incidents. My new job is to read over the reports to see if they make sense, and follow up on anything that looks like a disparity with the trainee in question. Then I have to write my own opinion of the report, and then, finally, I turn the whole mess in to The Trout. I assume he reads them with the intention of following up on any disparities with _me_, but since I've only been doing it for three days, I doubt he's even opened the file yet.

If my new job includes confronting the trainees with the findings, I'm going to quit. Lucas used to go over my reports with me, and it was completely humiliating. I left out so much that I should have put in. Going back and forth with Lucas was like having Hermione berate me for not studying. If I have to do that with Ron and Zachary, I will start hating my job.

Why? Because Lucas was always right, just like Hermione was always right. Making me feel like a particularly stupid twelve-year-old got me to start filling out reports properly, which makes this department run smoothly, which is something I've learned to appreciate. I started feeling less like a retarded child and more like a stuffy old man, but I wanted to _earn_ this job so I kept at it.

I've gotten very good at writing detailed reports. Getting Ron to do the same is a skill far beyond my mere mortal powers.

* * *

"Twenty-four?" I repeat in shock.

Ginny rolls her eyes. "Honestly, Harry, you're taking the whole "charmingly oblivious" thing a bit far, aren't you?" She is smiling though, and she pushes the casserole she made forward so I can take a second helping.

I scoop the mixture enthusiastically onto my plate. Ginny hardly ever cooks, I've got to take advantage of it when she does. There's meat and potatoes and all kinds of manly things in this dish. God bless her for learning how to cook in a house with six boys.

"So, then, what do you want for your birthday?"

"I can't believe I'm turning twenty-four," I mumble over a chunk of beef I'm chewing. "Get me a coffin, I'm ancient."

She scowls at me. "That's not funny."

"You're right, it's not, I'm sorry."

For some reason, that surprises her. "You are?"

"Yes?" I answer with hesitation, thinking _Is that wrong_?

"You usually aren't, so much."

"I think," I say slowly, "that I might not joke about being dead anymore. I think I might actually appreciate being alive."

I came to Holyhead to have dinner with Ginny, and I don't really want to spoil it by describing my recent emotional journey in depth. I'm hoping she'll get the gist of it from that.

If the bright, happy look on her face is any indication, she's got it. It's really just splendid to be with someone for so long that they can guess what you've been thinking.

"Good," she says softly, and leans over the table to drop a brief kiss on me. Then she picks up her fork and resumes eating. "This is nice," she says in contentment. "You don't even have to leave to get to the hospital in the morning."

"I know. Can we sleep in?"

At least the shaking of her head seems regretful. "No, quarterfinals are this weekend. We're practicing like mad."

"How are things looking?" Ginny shrugs. "We don't have a prayer at championship, but Gwen says we _might_ make semifinals. She also says . . ." She takes a deep breath. "That a scout from England's team will be there to watch me play."

The hand that isn't holding her fork is nervously digging a sliver of wood out of her table. I cover her hand with my own. "That's amazing, Gin. Brilliant. You're going to knock 'em dead, I know you will."

Her smile is sort of sick. "Gwen says she'll kill me if I don't make the team. Apparently I'm the only player in the last five years to even be considered."

"What happened to Noggie?" I ask, needing a moment to mull over whether or not I ought to track Jones down for threatening my girlfriend.

"Oh, that was just plain old silliness," Ginny explains, dismissing it. "We're better friends now, I use the name her friends actually call her."

"Oh. Good for you. She isn't pushing you too hard?"

"No," Ginny says with an inward smile. "She knows exactly how to motivate me. Seriously, she knows me so well it's almost scary. She's brilliant with the whole team, she really is. I never would have got this far without her help."

I clasp my hands together and flutter my eyelashes at her. "And her eyes? Are they green as a fresh pickled toad?"

Instead of blushing and throwing something at me, like she usually does if I bring that up, she just wrinkles her nose.

"Do I sound that bad?"

"Bit of hero worship isn't so bad. Jones is great, sounds like the perfect captain."

"Unlike some people," Ginny smirks. "But yeah, Gwenog's really great. I'll try to tone down the screaming fan-girl-isms, for your sake."

God, that is such an unfortunate choice of words. Either that or my mind is much further in the gutter than I have thus far believed it to be. I actually thought I wasn't as much of a pig as most men.

"You okay?" Ginny asks, sounding amused. I must have been staring at her or something.

"Yeah, I'm good. Are you finished? I'll clean up, if you like."

"_And_ he does dishes," she murmurs, pushing her mostly-empty plate toward me and wiggling her eyebrows.

I tease back by giving her one of those bottom-to-top looks with _way_ too much heat in it.

Ginny sighs, suddenly.

"You okay?"

"Uh-huh. Just tired. Would you be— well, disappointed, if I just wanted to sleep?"

"You want me to go?"

"No, stay. But just to sleep, you know?"

"Sure," I say cautiously. Sleep beside Ginny without any sex. Huh. This is a novel idea.

Still, it's nice, I think as we crawl into her bed. It's warm, and comfortable, and quiet. I've always liked having her beside me when I sleep—call it a holdover from the days when I would wake up unsure if I was actually awake, still dreaming, or having a vision. Just knowing that someone is there with me to help me figure it out . . . honestly, it's great that it's Ginny but I'd have taken the giant squid, that first year or so after it was all over.

She curls up like a shrimp so that I can curve myself around her back, and she sighs in contentment and immediately begins falling asleep.

"It's like being kids again, doing this," she murmurs. "We used to save sex for special occasions just because we were worried about my dad catching us, remember?"

"Of course I remember, I'm not that old yet," I quip.

"How late can you stay, tomorrow?"

"Not long. I have to get back so I can work. Don't you have practice pretty early, anyway?"

"Yeah." She sounds disappointed.

"Why?"

"We just need to talk soon, that's all."

"About what?"

"About Teddy. You've noticed that he puts himself between us, right? I just think we ought to talk about that soon. Goodnight, Harry."

She mumbles her way through that and falls asleep. I _was_ feeling wide-awake because my body was fiercely protesting not having sex with Ginny. Now I'm awake for a different, even less comfortable reason. It's coming. The talk is coming. And it scares the hell out of me.

* * *

Ron came to my cubicle earlier today and asked me if he could come over and talk later tonight. Don't get me wrong, he comes to my cubicle all the time, usually just to chat for a minute or invite me over for dinner or something. But I knew something was wrong immediately, this time, because of the way he stood there with his hands in his pockets and the uncomfortable way he was talking.

This is the reason I am at the market buying booze. I'm not much of a drinker to begin with, and making my home safe for a six-year-old means it's not on my usual grocery list. But Ron wants to talk about something he's not looking forward to, and that is just terrifying. If it's about Ginny, I might save him the trouble and beat _myself_ up. That's the kind of awkward conversation I would suddenly move to Bolivia just to avoid, if I wasn't so certain that Hermione would find me and drag me back.

The clerk raises her eyebrows when she sees that whiskey is all I'm purchasing, and I'm tempted to start talking to myself very loudly about the sorrows I must drown. I have perfectly justified reasons to become an alcoholic, not that I'm about to take advantage of them. But who cares about the dumpy girl, anyway? I didn't have time to make a special trip to the magical drinks shop in Diagon Alley, and I'm stocked up on orange juice (the sole reason I usually visit the Muggle market).

I make it back home only five minutes before Ron arrives, and I tamp down my wish that he could have waited until after I'd had a chance at dinner. I get the feeling I won't be hungry later. He raises his eyebrows when he sees what's on my kitchen table, with an expression almost matching that of the clerk in the store. Then he grins at me.

"I don't want to do this sober, either. Should have thought of that."

"That's why they keep me around," I say, kicking out a chair toward him (which he doesn't take), "for my ability to think ahead."

Ron just laughs at that, deciding the quip is so bad that it's not even worth a derogatory remark, and swipes the bottle off the table. "Come on. Let's at least do this somewhere comfortable."

"Okay, but we'd better get a couple of glasses and limit ourselves, or I make no guarantees about where we or our clothing might end up."

"Good point," Ron says, then heads for the living room and leaves me getting the glasses and trailing behind him.

"Where's your wife tonight?" I call after him.

"At home, worrying that we'll get in a fistfight and she'll have to patch us up."

"Bloody hell, mate, would you just tell me what this is about?"

Ron remains silent until I finally join him in the living room and hand him a glass.

"Are you hungry or anything?"

"I've already hashed this out with Hermione and we've worked this out for ourselves," Ron says, and it takes me a moment to realize this is an answer to the first question, not to the second. "So this is just about what's between us."

"So . . . what's between us?"

"It's about what you said at the wedding." It sort of bursts out of him, then he swallows half his glass in a go. "The best man speech, I mean."

"Oh, boy," I mumble. "Kreacher!"

Ron frowns in confusion as my elf pops up.

"Yes, Master Harry?"

"Kreacher, be sure all the doors are locked, and hide the Floo powder. Don't let me or Ron out of the house at least for a few hours, okay?"

"As the Master wishes," he says, Ron's confusion transferring to him.

"Hold that," Ron breaks in. "Let me call Hermione first, okay?"

"Sure," I say, waving a hand to the fireplace. "Although it's probably not necessary. I bet she's already expecting you to be late and completely plastered."

"You're probably right," he chuckles. "But I'll call her, any road. Tell her not to wait up or worry, you know."

So this is marriage. Huh.

Hermione expresses to me her desire that Ron return home in one piece, then admits that she's long past the stage of trying to understand how men work and that she'll settle for him returning home. I reckon I can promise that much, although I don't take her point about how men work. We're upset about something. We drink until we're loose enough to talk about it, and sometimes we have to hit each other. Then it's over. What's not to understand?

"Right."

"Right."

"So."

We finish one glass in silence. Ron fiddles with his empty glass, then looks up and says, "Fuck it, mate, let's just have this out."

"Okay," I say, very startled.

"I left you guys. Things were bad and I left. I wasn't there for you, not like you were telling everyone. I ruddy well walked off right when you needed me."

"Yeah. Yeah, you did."

"So bollocks to your speech! I'm not your best man!"

"Yes you are!" I shout back, jumping to my feet and causing him to follow suit. "You told me what happened! You told me you meant to come back a lot sooner! It's not your fault we'd already moved camp. I'm not stupid, I know you had a lot of issues back then. You had them back when we were kids!" I shove him in his chest, absolutely spoiling for a fight. I've been wanting to punch him in his stupid mouth to get him over his self-esteem problem ever since the TriWizard Tournament. "You're still a bloody wanker, by the way. If you can't let go of that stuff and think better of yourself and just move on, then you have no business being married to Hermione."

"That's what she said," Ron admits, instead of shoving me back.

I find myself just staring at him, then a snort of laughter escapes me. Ron looks at me, confused for a second, then he starts sniggering, too. I begin laughing in earnest, and a minute later we're both collapsed on the sofa howling. Impressive, it only took a single glass of whiskey to get to this point.

Once we've both calmed down somewhat, Ron tries to speak.

"I was hoping," he gasps out in between gulps of air, "that we'd gotten old enough—to do this without—doing anything stupid. I was wrong."

"Th-that's what sh-she said!" I barely manage to stutter out, and of course I set us both off again and it's probably another ten minutes before we've completely stopped laughing and have resumed a normal breathing pattern.

Ron gets up and pours us each a fortifying second glass. "Seriously, mate. I don't want any bad feelings left between us. Are we okay?"

"It's fine, Ron. It was a bad year for all of us, and if you can forgive me for being a complete prat, I can forgive you for not being able to put up with it full-time."

"All right. Fair enough."

We're quiet for a few minutes as I think about everything that's changed over the years. Ron is still my stubborn, idiotic best friend at heart, but he's grown up. He's a lot more quiet, now. Thinks for a long time before he speaks, and he really has moved on from that childish need for attention. I'm fairly certain he's happy with his life.

"I'd love to keep you up all night getting drunk with me, but you've got a wife to get home to, eh?" I say, trying for jovial and ending up more on the depressed end of the spectrum.

"I do, at that," Ron says, getting up. When he reaches out his hand for mine, I'm a little confused, but follow direction, and he ends up pulling me to my feet, too. There's a quick, back-thumping embrace, then he says, "I don't want you to get drunk alone, either. Do you want me to stay?"

"No," I say, slightly shocked. "I'm going to bed. Do I look like an alcoholic to you?"

"Well, no," Ron says uncomfortably. "But your life isn't exactly easy these days, Harry, so we all get a bit worried about how you're handling it."

I roll my eyes. "You can take the bottle home with you, if you'd like. I don't really want it around Teddy, anyway."

"Oh, bollocks," Ron says in frustration. "Fine, Harry. If you don't want me to worry about you."

"I'm not a drunk. And you don't really need to worry, anyway. Things are going all right for me." I clap him on the shoulder. "Honest."

Ron nods, says goodnight, and steps into my fireplace mumbling something about how people who _should_ have gone daft ages ago shouldn't be allowed to live alone. I pretend I can't hear him. (Doctor, even you have to agree that occasional deafness is necessary in a friendship that's lasted this long.) I don't live alone, in any case, I have Kreacher . . . Er, never mind. Just—oh, hell, maybe Ron's right.

* * *

I distinctly remember telling people—_several_ people—that I did not want to have a birthday party. These people were clearly not listening.

It was bad enough that Alicia brought a cake to work and made everybody sing to me. The Trout was not amused in the slightest, for one thing, and _I did not want to celebrate my birthday_. Then I went over to the Burrow for dinner, all unsuspecting, and found a bunch of people waiting to pounce on me with yet another cake.

I repeat, _several_ people.

Still, since everyone got together to have a good time at my expense, I should probably not be grouchy and spoil it for them. Wedding season notwithstanding, I don't actually go out much for the purposes of socialization. It will probably be someone else's birthday or wedding before I see Seamus again, so I make sure to spend a couple of minutes chatting with him about work and this witch he's seeing who works in Records at the Ministry. (Yes, I was only joking about him and Dean. Not too sure about Ernie Macmillan, though.)

It's actually not that many people, and all of them are friends and family, so I find it fairly easy to just accept the impromptu party. Besides, it's like I told Ginny: I might be glad I'm alive this year. Maybe I ought to loosen up and just celebrate a bit. The only kids here are Victoire and Teddy, and they have moved from trying to annoy each other to completely ignoring each other and are quietly sticking to their father and grandmother, respectively. I can just relax and have a good time today.

Or so I believe.

(Yes, doctor, I do know that repeating the same action over and over expecting a different result is a mark of insanity. But does it truly make me insane to keep hoping that things will just go without incident sometimes? Don't answer that.)

It's all well and good during the hors d'oeuvres and casual conversation, but by the time we get to the actual cake, it's become clear that something is wrong with my godson. He has left his godmother to come cling to my leg. I have attempted several times to dislodge him so I can talk to Dean about some editorial pieces in the paper recently regarding werewolves, and I don't want to do that within Teddy's hearing. But he is acting cranky and spoiled, and I have to settle for general pleasantries and affirmations that Dean's wife really does sound like a great girl.

Dean eventually realizes that I am annoyed with my godson and makes a tactical retreat to talk to Neville so I can deal with it. Andromeda is frowning at us from across the room where she is talking to Molly, and I deliberately turn my shoulder to keep the conversation private.

"What is it, Bug?"

"Nothing," he says sullenly, astonishing me. Where on earth did my shy, polite little Bug go and who is this child?

"Why are you being such a brat?"

"I'm not," he says, and suddenly his eyes are flooded with tears. "I'm not a brat."

Oh, boy. This kid is in desperate need of a nap. Of course, if I suggest such a thing, he will inform me that he is six years old and far too big for one. Maybe he didn't get enough sleep last night? I turn back toward Andromeda and raise my eyebrows in question. Her response is a shrug. Great, she doesn't know what's wrong with him, either.

Then I wonder if he might not feel well. "Teddy? Have you had a glass of water this afternoon?"

"I don't want any," he says, now both sullen and tearful. "I'm tired of drinking water all the time. I don't want to."

I experience a moment of loss. Teddy has long since gotten over his reservations about telling me when he doesn't feel well, but he is clearly having a rough day. It's entirely possible that he just didn't want to ruin my birthday party. I don't want to embarrass him in front of my friends, because he likes all of them, but this is rapidly becoming one of those situations where I have to be a responsible adult and force the child to do what is best for him whether he wants to or not.

"I'll be back in a few minutes," I tell Luna and Hannah, who are standing close by and looking concerned. Then I scoop up Bug and carry him out of the room, with him uncharacteristically pouting in protest and me shaking my head at Andromeda to let her know I've got this under control.

I take him up to Ron's old room, which has been made up for guests in general, since none of the Weasley children live at home any more. Bug is making ugly noises and squirming and being a general nuisance, and I am entirely shocked. This is so not like him. The first thing I do is conjure up a glass of water, because he's not getting dehydrated on my watch. I am very close to panic. On occasion, when he was in his Terrible Twos, I had to give him a time out. I hated it even more than he did. I have not had to punish him for misbehaviour in at least three years, and I am terrified at the prospect that I may have to discipline him right now. God, why didn't I let Andromeda do this? Am I a glutton for pain? (Don't answer that!)

He very nearly throws the water at me, and I fix him with a good stern look. "Drink it."

He does so, but by the time he's halfway through, he's crying so hard that he's hiccupping and practically choking on it.

"Oh, good grief," I mumble, and take it away before he really does choke. "Teddy . . ." I trail off helplessly.

"Don't be mad at me," he cries, scrubbing at his eyes. "I don't want you to be mad at me, Harry."

Well, shit. There went all the wind in my sails.

"I'm not mad at you, Bug." Well, not now, anyway. "Why are you so tired?"

"I don't know," he hiccups. "Grandma made me take my medicine today, and it made my tummy hurt and now I'm tired and I'm still th-th-thirsteeeeee," he finishes on another wail.

Bloody hell. I pull him up into my lap and let him bury his face against me and soothe him until he stops crying, which takes a bit longer than expected. Eventually, he settles down enough for me to refill the glass of water. Just because the whole thing is so pathetic and I feel so sorry for him, I hold the glass and let him sip out of it, like he's still a baby. He's so tired I worry that he'd drop the glass if left to his own devices, anyway. He's practically asleep by the time we get through the water, and I find myself just cuddling him into me and stroking his hair. He's falling asleep in my lap, and I don't want to let him go to lay him down for a nap. My poor Bug. He's such a sweet and innocent kid, and he'll be embarrassed by his own behaviour when he wakes up and feels more rested.

I hate his illness, and I hate the medication he has to take, and I hate lycanthropy and doctors, too. I pretty much hate everything right now. I do, eventually, lay him down, thinking I'd better go get a washcloth and clean him up a bit before I go back to the guests, though.

I hear a noise and turn to see Ginny in the doorway. She grimaces when she sees Bug's red face.

"Want a garden hose?"

The glare I give her could probably melt steel, and is maybe a little unfair. Did I mention that I hate everything right now? (Misdirected anger is one of my strengths, doctor, don't look down on such a special talent!)

"Kidding," she says, raising her hands in surrender. "How about a washcloth?"

I nod, and she disappears for a moment to get it. I try to wrestle my emotions into submission while she's gone, and I manage to have a grateful smile on my face when she returns. She hands it to me and lets me clean off Bug's face, with him muttering a sleepy protest.

"You need anything else?"

I shake my head. "He just needs to get some rest." I can't resist pushing his shaggy hair away from his face and just generally touching him to reassure myself that he is not burning with fever or anything of the sort.

"Harry?"

"Hmm?"

"Please tell me what's wrong with him?"

I look down at my sad, ill little godson, and I look up at her pleading face, and I cave in and I tell her. Right there, with all the party guests wondering where the birthday boy is, I finally break down and tell her the whole story. I think that Bug is still awake enough to hear us, and even stop me if he wanted to, but he curls himself up against my outstretched leg and rests in silence. So I tell her everything.

Merlin help me, but I wish I could just have a breakdown and go on a crying jag by the time I finish telling her the truth. Ginny's at my side letting me lean on her while I talk, silent and contemplative about what she's just learned. She's not the only person in my life who's grown up a lot in the last few years. She's always been mature for her age, and I can see that she is forcing away her personal hurt over having this kept from her so she can understand what Teddy is going through.

I don't stop when I get to the end of the saga of Teddy's illness. I keep going. Straight on into the territory that Ginny was probably hoping we would be alone and more prepared for before it came up.

"I'm just worried about Andromeda, you know?" I say, hearing my voice wavering. "This is really hard on her, and she's not getting any younger. Ginny, this isn't fair, especially not for you, and I—"

"Harry," she says suddenly, and kisses me to make me stop talking. "Not now. Please. It's your birthday. Not today."

"Really?" I say weakly.

"Really. Now let's get you cleaned up so you can go back downstairs without anyone thinking we hired a clown as entertainment. You just go down and relax and take one day to enjoy being twenty-four and not dead. I know that we have a conversation long overdue, but I don't want to do it on your birthday. Just for today, I love you and helped Mum decorate your cake. Okay?"

Ginny is such a wonderful person. She really is. My heart aches when I think of this overdue conversation. It's inevitable by now, but I'll miss this. So I say okay, and kiss her softly, and go wash my face before letting her lead me back down to the party. This may be the last day she and I will ever have like this, so I just let it be what she says. Everyone can probably tell something is wrong, but I don't care. I twine my fingers through Ginny's and feel glad that she's still my friend.

* * *

Luna and her father have decided that he will move into The Hollows in mid-August, and in the end, both Neville and I accompany them. Neville and Mr. Lovegood aren't particularly close—not that I am particularly close to Mr. Lovegood, myself—but he's been worrying about Luna as much as I have. We all know this is the best solution, but that doesn't make it any easier on her.

I'm thinking about my own parents as we go through Luna's Floo one by one. They died and were gone from my life before I was truly old enough to remember them. (Leaving aside my little Dementor problem, anyway.) In some sick, perverted way, I feel grateful that it happened that way. Because they were taken from me like that, I will never have to go through this small, constant, painful method of separation. She and her father had no one but each other for so long, and I don't believe the calm face she is wearing today.

But I know all too well just how necessary the mask can be, so I don't force her to admit how much this hurts. I just volunteer to Levitate Mr. Lovegood's trunk so I can feel like I'm being helpful. Neville, being the great and dependable guy he is, is letting Mr. Lovegood lean on his arm and is even casually conversing about gardening techniques with him like it's no big deal. Luna lets them take the lead, hanging behind with me as we meander our way to the registration desk. I can tell what she's thinking, because I'm thinking the same thing: Thank all the powers that he's lucid. If we had to do this with Mr. Lovegood confused and protesting every step of the way, I don't think Luna could . . . Well, yes, Luna could. She's pretty strong. But I'm not sure I could take having to watch her go through that.

Luna and her father already toured The Hollows extensively before making their decision, but the witch who is there to greet us and finalize the paperwork offers to take us all the way around the facilities before ending at the room that will be Mr. Lovegood's. I'm pleasantly surprised, and we take her up on the offer. The kind and welcoming staff was one of the main factors in choosing The Hollows, for Luna.

It's a nice place. There's lots of open lawn and gardens for the residents to walk and relax in, shaded over with large, leafy trees. There's a big common room with chess boards and card games and shelves of books. It's well-kept, and the residents seem happy enough. At least, nobody throws themselves at our feet and begs to be taken out of here, which is pretty much the only standard I have. I don't know anything about this kind of thing.

Even though I know she needs the mask today, I can't stop worrying about my friend. My hand keeps reaching out instinctively to touch her elbow or her shoulder just to reassure her. She doesn't turn to me to acknowledge it, but she doesn't try to stop me, either. And when we get to Mr. Lovegood's room at last, she stops cold in the doorway for a second, and I quietly put my hand on her back and push her inside. While not large, it's very clean and cozy-looking. Unfortunately, he's having trouble breathing by now, and he has to sit down in the armchair by the window. Luna steps away from me to go over and check on him.

Helen, the kind witch who was giving us the tour, excuses herself, saying someone will come by at five o'clock to show Mr. Lovegood where the dining room is and that we may stay as long as we like. Which means that it's finally the moment for Luna to say goodbye to her father. And by golly, is it ever awkward for Neville and me. I look at him, he looks at me, we wonder if we should leave, and feel reluctant to do so in case Luna needs us. We wind up shuffling our feet a lot and pretending to be studying an extremely bland painting on the wall that depicts a vase of flowers and a stack of books.

"Luna, you're a dear to keep me company, but I know you've got work to do. I'll join you in arranging the editorials, but I think I need a bit of a kip first."

And cue the clenching in my gut. He's not entirely aware of things.

"I might just go sit in the chair by the window, downstairs . . ."

"You look so comfortable, though. Why don't you just nap here?"

"Excellent suggestion," he mumbles.

I see a light blanket folded up on the end of the bed, so I grab it and give it to Luna. She smiles at me as she takes it and throws it around his shoulders.

"Now, then," she says, quiet and calm. "I'll be going home now, as long as you're comfortable. Will you be all right?"

"Fine, Allegra, just fine."

"I'll come see you tomorrow, then." She bends down and kisses his sparse, flaxen white hair, and whispers something very strange. "_Ti àmo, pàpy_."

Without a word of explanation at the confused looks Neville and I are giving her, she grabs us each by a hand and walks us out of the room. She keeps hold of us as we walk down the hall. Normally, I would feel amused by the three of us hand-in-hand, and chalk it up to an eccentricity of Luna's. Today, I think she might just need us to keep her from running back to his room and taking him home again. With this thought in mind, I shuffle us at the Floo so that Neville goes first, Luna in the middle, and me last. I think she needs one of us at each end, just in case. Sure enough, when I climb out and brush the ash from my shoulders, I find that Luna is locked firmly in Neville's embrace.

"I have to go to work soon," he is saying with regret. "But there's time if you want us to take you out for lunch or something. Get your mind off things?"

"No, thank you, Neville," she says. "I'd much rather not go out today, although I'm glad you offered."

"You ought to eat, though," I speak up. "I could cook something."

"I'm not hungry at all, but I appreciate your thoughtfulness, Harry."

Her extreme politeness has me a bit baffled. She does tend to start speaking that way when she's out of her element, but she's with the two people who are arguably her best friends right now. She's usually a bit more relaxed around us.

Oh. Out of her element. If anything could make a person feel like that, I suppose it would be signing your dad off to a bunch of strangers and going home without him to work in an office you used to share.

"Do you want me to do anything?" Neville asks, clearly at a loss just as much as I am. There's not really much that anyone can do for her, not today. We can love her and support her as much as we want, but coming to grips with a difficult situation is always something you have to do alone. She just needs time, I expect. (Of course I don't want to do your job, doctor, but I don't think it requires superhuman insight to figure that much out.)

"No, Neville, nothing. Just keep being my friend."

"Always," he says gruffly, and gives her a final squeeze before letting her go. "I'd better get going, then. You know you can call me anytime, or Hannah, if you need us?"

"I know," she says with serenity, making him smile.

Man, I always knew Neville was a good person, but he really is something. I always saw him as such a self-effacing person, but it's like he has this strange, dormant confidence that wakes up in situations that call for compassion and a helping hand. When he takes his leave, the house goes quiet.

Very, very quiet.

I know Luna probably wants some time in private, but I can't just leave her here, all alone in an empty house. Believe me, I know what crushing loneliness and isolation feel like, and I just can't shake the idea that if I leave, that's how she'll feel. She might smile and say she'll be fine, but it's not true. Even if she doesn't know it, it's not.

"Luna, I'm going to stay here with you."

"You are?"

"Yes," I say decisively. "I know you probably want to get some work done, so I'll leave you alone for a while. But I'm going to be around today, and I'll sleep here tonight. Just in case, you know, if you want to talk or something." I had to work awfully early this morning, and I have to work awfully early tomorrow morning, too. But I can rest here just as easily as I can at home, in my own big, silent, empty house.

"O-okay."

That didn't sound very composed, I think to myself.

"Thank you for being such a good friend, Harry." Her voice sounds squeezed, somehow.

"Luna, your dad will be okay there. It looks like a really nice place."

"He's dying."

It takes me a moment to realize what she's just blurted out. When it finally hits me, my response is "What?"

(It's true. My skills as a linguist and as a friend are simply astonishing.)

"He already knows. They told us when we were doing all the medical testing during the preliminary paperwork. His heart is failing so quickly—"

I might start out slow, but I catch up fast. Luna is cut off because I've snatched her into my arms so quickly that her face sort of slams into my chest.

"Oh, Luna, I'm sorry. Why didn't you say anything?"

"I wanted to, but I didn't know how," she says, sounding bewildered. "I wanted to keep him at home with me as long as possible, but he's really dying now and he needs to be somewhere that they can take care of him."

I walk her over to the table and make her sit down.

"I'm going to make you some tea."

I am aware that tea does not actually fix anything. But everything looks a damn sight better with a hot cup in your hands, especially if that cup was put there by someone who cares about you.

"Did they tell you . . . how long?" I ask her as I rummage through her cupboard for something that is recognizably tea-like. This takes longer than it should. There are canisters labelled with words that I am certain Luna or her father made up.

"A few months, perhaps. Maybe sooner."

Filling a cup with hot water is a moment's work, so once I find a box of Irish Afternoon tea in bags, all I have to do is pop the teabag in it and join her at the table. She clutches the cup and leans over it, but doesn't cry. I think it would be easier if she would just cry. Or maybe it would only be easier on me. By Merlin, am I still that selfish even when I'm trying to be the direct opposite?

"Luna, please, talk to me. What do you need?"

"I don't think I know."

"Have you—have you thought about what you'll do?"

Her grip on her teacup becomes incredibly desperate. "Yes. But I haven't made a decision yet. I don't think I want to keep the house. Not forever, anyway, I think I'd like something smaller. But I do want to stay here for a little while. At least until Daddy is gone. It might be very sentimental of me, but I need the house to be here for him, if he wants it."

"I'm not going to judge anything you want to do," I say to reassure her. "You do whatever you have to. But what are you going to do about _The Quibbler_? I mean, if you move somewhere smaller . . ."

"That's one of the things I haven't decided yet," she says, miserable.

Today, she moved her father into a care home and is confronting how badly she will miss him. Looking for a new location for her magazine's editorial office is quite possibly the last thing she needs to be trying to do.

"Well, there's no reason you have to decide anything today. You know what you _ought_ to do today?"

"What?" she asks, looking up as though eager for some direction.

"Nothing at all," I say with a soft smile. "It's time to throw up your hands, declare this a bad day all around, and spend the rest of it in your garden or reading a book in your pyjamas. Or even better, I could go get you some mead."

Luna laughs in a weird, choking way. "Thank you, but no."

"If you're sure."

"I'm quite sure. I prefer to keep my mind busy, you know. I've found that when my mind is occupied, it's not dwelling on losing things— so I— oh," she gasps. Even with her head hanging down, I can see that tears have finally started to fall.

I get up so I can stand beside her and rub her back while she hunches over the table and cries. I don't say anything, because I don't have anything to say. I've never been through anything like this before. I have no advice to offer, and nothing to do that will make it better. I really, really wish Neville didn't have to work, because I think he'd at least have something to offer, after his own experiences with his parents. Luna only cries for a minute, though, before she lifts her head, wipes her eyes, and attempts to smile at me.

"I think you're right, Harry. I think I will go and garden for a little while."

"Okay," I say, feeling awkward and knowing I sound just like I feel. "You want to be alone, don't you?"

"I do know that you're trying to help, so I don't want to hurt your feelings."

"You won't be. Go on, then. I'll let you be. But like I said, I'll be here. Come find me if you need anything."

"Thank you, Harry."

"Luna? Can I ask you something first?"

"Yes, of course."

"What did you say to your dad, when we were leaving?"

She looks very hesitant about that. I'm surprised, because I didn't think Luna really had any secrets left to keep from me after everything that's happened the last few months.

"It's okay if you don't want to tell me," I assure her. And it really is. I've turned into something of a nosy git where Luna's concerned, but I do respect that even a good friendship has the capacity for some things to be personal.

"I just told him I loved him, actually. I was speaking Italian."

Luna can be a veritable font of surprises. And here she is, being so matter-of-fact about it.

"I didn't know you speak Italian."

"I'm not fluent, so I don't suppose I _do_ speak Italian, not really. But my mother was Italian, so I remember a few things. And sometimes my father likes to hear some of the phrases that Mamma taught me. And it helps me remember her, when I start to forget. She could speak English very well, but her voice sounded much more beautiful in her native tongue."

"How did your parents meet? Did she come to school here?"

"No, they met in Italy. My father was on an extended holiday. They got married while he lived there. I was born in Italy, actually, even though I don't remember it at all."

"I had no idea. You are a surprising and wonderful person, Luna Lovegood." These are things I should have known about her long ago, aren't they? But then, Luna has a unique understanding of privacy. She's not afraid to voice her thoughts and feelings, but very few people know anything about her personal life. You have to earn that. I don't know why it touches me so much to learn this about her. Maybe it's just that it adds so much to my understanding of her. She never talks about her mother.

"Don't be silly, Harry. Being born in another country does not inherently make a person wonderful, after all."

"I know, but you're wonderful, anyway," I tell her with a smile, then I squeeze her shoulder. "Try to relax today, okay?"

I grab a book off the shelf in the living room without really looking at it, and tell myself I need to remember to call Kreacher later to have him bring me a change of clothes. I spend the afternoon reading lesser-known wizarding folk tales that do not, thankfully, appear to contain the secrets to a massive conspiracy. After a little while, Luna comes in with dirt smeared on her chin and she looks a lot better. Being outside working up a sweat seems to have cheered her. We both go to sleep fairly early, and I have to say that I find her sofa a lot more agreeable to sleep on now that I don't have to worry about drunken arsewipes showing up in the middle of the night.

* * *

I go back to my own house after work the next day. Luna was going to go back to The Hollows to have lunch with her father, which she plans to do as often as she can manage, and I think she's going to be okay. She knows where I am if she needs anything, and I'd like to think she wouldn't hesitate to ask. I have a nice, lazy afternoon in which I go for a long jog, take a nap, then go and have dinner with Teddy and Andromeda before turning in early again.

Maybe turning twenty-four wasn't good for me. I'm turning into an old man or something. An afternoon nap, and in bed at nine o'clock? Maybe I'm coming down with the flu.

I don't have to be at work until afternoon the following day, so I decide to do something unusual, and read the paper from cover to cover. I generally only skim the headlines, but today I go through the newspaper at length. The classifieds are surprisingly entertaining, but the society pages make me want to put out my own eyes. So-and-so married what's-their-face, and this bloke went to this charity event, and nobody I care about might be cheating on his wife. Kingsley tells me I ought to stay abreast of things like this, but I can't bring myself to do it. He keeps trying to make a politician out of me, but I'm just an Auror.

Then I see it.

What in the bleeding hell is _this_?

The image is quite fuzzy. But it's unmistakably Ginny. And a _man._

Why is there a photograph of Ginny and a man on the society page?

I can barely manage to tear my eyes away from the photo to read the text. It tells me that there was a party last night after the Harpies' last big game, and that a bunch of celebrities were rubbing elbows at it. In fact, I vaguely remember Ginny inviting me to attend this party and me declining because I hate going to these things. This celebrity in particular is named Alain Paradis, lead singer of a wizard rock band from France, who just happened to be doing a concert in Wales the night before. In this photo, he and Ginny are standing together with drinks in their hands, and he is leaning over her in a way that has me seeing red. Why is he standing so close to her? Why is she _letting him_?

My fireplace flares to life, and I look up.

It's Ginny.

"Harry," she says, the flames making her face wavery and uncertain. Or maybe that's just the expression she's wearing right now. "Harry, have you seen— oh."

"_Oh?"_

"Listen to me," she says. "It is not what it looks like. The paper likes to stir up rumours, but you know me better than that."

I stare at her, hard. Her eyes don't move from mine. She's right. I do know her better than that.

"I believe you," I say at last. "That it's not what it looks like, I mean." I hear myself moan. "There'll be a bloody mob trying to get to me to get a quote. The Trout will go spare."

"You'd better call out of work," Ginny says grimly. "And come up here and see me. It's time for you and I to have that talk."


	12. Chapter 11

Chapter Eleven

The Truth About Changes

It only takes me half an hour to get the approval to skip work, and to call Brychan and get access to the Floo at the bar. The Trout is not precisely happy with the whole idea, but he says that he knew issues like this might come up with me in his department and he was willing to take the risk because I'm good at my job. I don't get to wallow in that pleasure for long, because Brychan's sympathetic grimace when he gives me clearance to Floo tells me he's already heard the news—and that means the reporters are already in town.

"This is a nightmare," I mutter as I make my way to Wales. I wish there was time to talk to Kingsley and ask him for some advice on this, but the longer I wait, the worse it's going to get.

"There you are."

"Is it bad, Brychan?"

He squints and creates an interesting pattern in his freckles. "Not yet."

"Bloody fantastic."

"Just don't muck things up, and it'll all settle down quick enough."

"I don't know what to do."

I'm as surprised that I said it as he is to hear it. He's only ever seen me in the various Phases of the Teddy Action Plan. I generally spend my time pretending I know exactly what to do. It's my job: in my actual occupation as an Auror, in my status as a hero, in my role in Teddy's life. I _have _to pretend I know what I'm doing, even when I'm totally lost.

Now I can't.

"Well, lad, I'll tell you one thing I've learned after twenty-eight years of marriage to a good woman. It's best to act like she's right and you're wrong. Isn't always the truth, but she'll suss that out on her own if you let her and there's fewer hearts and dishes get broken in the process."

"Thanks," I mutter, already on my way out the door.

I don't even know what the situation is yet, so it's difficult to judge who's right and who's wrong. She got her picture taken with a man, that's all I really know. No matter what the paper might say about it, there had to be loads of men at that party, and she probably talked to several of them. That's what people _do_ at parties. I feel certain that's all that really happened. But the fact remains that this is the incident that has sparked our inevitable conversation. It's The Talk, and I don't want to have it. I want to pretend things are still fine, and I don't want to lose her.

I don't know if she'll be at the stadium, but I think it's more likely that she's at home. If I'm missing work for this, I'm sure she is, too. I don't think anyone really knows where she lives, which is why I've got a cap on over my hair and my glasses in my pocket. If nobody sees Harry Fucking Potter going there, they won't have any reason to discover where she lives.

When I get to the door, I just let myself in as always, not really stopping to consider that it might not be the best idea today. I'm barely three steps into the house before there's a wand at my throat.

"How dare you break into the house of a good, law-abiding witch just for the scoop on some imaginary scandal? You little bastard, I—"

"Morning, Miss Jones," I say carefully, just as Gwenog cuts herself off and gapes at me. She had grabbed hold of my arm and twisted it up behind my back, but she lets go now.

"Erm, sorry, there, Potter. I was only—"

"I know. It's all right."

"So what are you doing here?" she asks, lifting her eyebrow in a way I don't care for.

"I'm here to talk to my girlfriend. What's it to you?"

"She's my star player and I don't need a scandal on my team."

"There's no scandal," I protest, hoping that she doesn't know anything I don't.

"I know that. Probably better than you."

"What's that supposed to mean?" She's got her arms crossed and a frown on her face, and she's giving me every indication that she's exceedingly pissed off. It's just that I have no idea what I did to her. Well, her personally, although I suppose it's possible she's angry at the upset to her team's routine.

"It means I talk to her, Potter. Often. Which is more than you do."

With that, she sweeps past me and through the front door.

"Thank Merlin you finally showed up. I left _Gerty_ in charge of PR until I can get to the stadium and deal with the reporters."

The door crashes shut behind her, and I simply stand there in the entryway. I know I need to go find Ginny, but I'm sort of frozen. Since when do I not talk to her? And since when does Gwenog Jones know how my relationship with Ginny works? And there's enough reporters at the stadium to warrant _public relations statements_? Merlin, this is already a mess and I don't even know what happened yet.

I finally break out of my paralysis to take a step forward, to go to Ginny's room and see if she's there. Instead, she appears in the doorway of the kitchen, holding a porcelain mug in her hand (that I recognize as the one we used to turn into a turtle for Transfiguration practice), and leaning exhaustedly on the wooden frame.

"Hi," she says in a low, uncertain voice.

Her eyes are red and puffy, set in dark pits of exhaustion; her face is drawn, weary; her shoulders slumped in some strange kind of defeat. She looks like she's been crying all night. And that scares the _hell_ out of me. The thing is, Ginny _never_ cries, she just doesn't respond to things that way. The last time I saw her cry herself into exhaustion—shit, she hasn't done that since her brother died. Just the once, then.

Oh, no.

Oh, Merlin.

She cheated on me last night, didn't she?

I think about Ginny, and the last time she cried like this. I'm so angry I'm seeing red, but I have to _think, dammit_. Gwenog Jones believes I don't talk to her, and she's probably right. However this conversation goes, it should have happened months ago, and it's my fault that it didn't. That's the only way I can calm down. It's the only way to keep myself from tracking down this Paradis guy and just flat-out murdering him. I have to assume that this is something I did. Brychan is more right than he knows. For the moment, I _need_ to assume that I did something wrong. After all, she might have cheated on me—_might have_—but it takes two to get to this stage of a relationship, doesn't it?

There's reporters at the stadium. Sharks, circling us, drawn by the scent of our blood in the water.

"Sorry you had to miss work for this," Ginny mumbles.

Suddenly, I'm across the room, and she's flinching away from me, and that fucking hurts like nothing else, that she _flinches_—

I grab her face in my hands. I press my forehead against hers. I breathe out deeply through my nose. I hope my breath doesn't smell like the beans and toast I had for breakfast when I speak.

"Hey," I say, surprising even myself with the softness in my voice. "It's okay. Whatever it is, it's going to be okay."

I feel her cheeks tightening beneath my hands, and I think I know she's going to cry before she does.

"Harry, I—"

"Listen," I say, calm and controlled. I have to pretend I know what I'm doing, right? It's what I do. "We need to talk. Obviously. But this shouldn't be affecting your team or causing a ruckus like this. So here's what we're going to do first: we're going to go down to the Dwynwen and Potion. We're going to have some lunch together. We're going to talk about nice, easy things like your mum and how bad Ron screwed up his training assignment last week. Okay? We need to do that, appear in public like that. Whatever conversation we have, it happens _after_ the reporters see us together."

Now I feel tears running in hot trickles over my hands. "Why are you being so nice?"

"Ginny, whatever happened, it's our business. Not theirs. And I _won't_ let the papers slap a scarlet letter on your chest just for talking to some guy at a party. Not you. I _love_ you, I won't let them."

She is pressing her forehead into mine so hard that it aches, and her mouth finds mine with an uncertainty that kills me. The kiss is brief, just a moment of her hesitation and my lack of it. We both just need to get on firmer ground. I need to know that she hasn't distanced herself too much to even talk, and I imagine she needs to know that I'm not too angry to think about this. After the kiss, she pulls back and looks more composed. Her hands are at least a bit looser on her teacup.

"Harry— I—"

"So let's get you cleaned up a bit, hey?" I say gently, and tug her toward the bathroom. "Your clothes are fine, but you've got to wash your face and put on a bit of makeup."

She gasps and breaks away from me to run into the bathroom. I hear water running, and decide to have a seat. Knowing Ginny, we won't be going out for another hour or so. Which is all to the good, really. I don't want the reporters to know she's been crying.

* * *

It was as good as can be expected. Nobody but Brychan knew we were there for almost the entirety of our meal, and the reporters didn't show up until we were nearly ready to pay the bill. We spent that hour talking about family stuff and trying to make each other laugh. We both wanted to make sure nobody saw us upset with each other. If we're going to have this conversation, it's going to stay between us, that's for damn sure.

I maybe hexed a camera as we ran out the door. Maybe. Can you blame me? After all the shit the media put me through, I feel justified in bearing a slight grudge.

So. Here we are. Me and Ginny. Sitting at her kitchen table in awkward silence, hoping that Gerty knows better than to come home anytime soon. Actually, knowing Gwenog, the team is having practice as usual and Gerty is busy being pelted with Bludgers.

"I don't really know where to start," I say, at the same moment she says,

"Let's just get this over with." She blinks at me. "I'll start," she says firmly.

We sit in silence again.

"Ginny, tell me about this guy. Let's just get that out of the way."

She's about to get angry, so I go on before she can open her mouth.

"I don't believe you cheated me. I _don't_. But I want to know why everyone thinks you did."

She bites down on her anger, because she knows as well as I do that it's a fair question. That something must have set this off and I should know what it was.

"It was just . . . nothing," she says, fighting with her words as if her tongue and her brain are locked in mortal combat. "I was at a party. I was there by myself, just having a good time, dancing with some of the other girls. Alain was just . . . there."

I feel like I just got smacked in the chest by a dragon tail. "_Alain_?" I choke out.

Oh, now I've done it. Her face just went blank and hard and cold as a stone wall, and I knew better than to say it that way, because we both know that was an accusation.

"Yes," she hissed. "His name is Alain Paradis, and he is not only handsome and single, but he is intelligent and funny and interesting and talented, and at some point in the several hours we spent talking last night, he invited me to address him by his first name." She is crossing her arms and looking defiant, the way she used to when she was a teenager. "You know what was most appealing about him, and why I spent an indecorous amount of time with him? He was _there_, and listening to me talk. I don't get that very often, do I?"

"So, what?" I blurt out. "This was to punish me for not wanting to go to the party?"

I almost hope she slaps some sense into me at this point, as I clearly need it. (I have never let my anger get the better of me, and I have no idea where these hurtful accusations came from. I certainly never have run off at the mouth when angry.)

"You_ twat!_" she shouts. "This doesn't have anything to do with the stupid party!"

"I _know that_!" I shout right back. "Stop being so aggressive! I came to talk, not to fight!"

She just stares at me for a second, then she bursts into tears. "Why does it have to be now?" she gasps out. "Why when it's too late? Why couldn't we do this sooner? We have to fight, because I'm angry and I'm hurt and I want to _hurt_ you, Harry."

I stay silent. I don't know what to say. I can't even begin to figure out what I want to say.

"I didn't cheat on you with Alain Paradis," she says. "But I _wanted_ to, and isn't that all you need to know? I need out of this before it drives me mad," she sobs.

"Don't," I say, and I feel cold. There's something frozen and dead in my chest. "Don't turn this all around on me. Listen, I know we have to do this. I know that. But we don't have to do _this_," I say, gesturing at the two of us, glaring (and sobbing) at each other across Ginny's old table. "Let's not do this, _please_."

Ginny and I have barely been together this past year, and I feel capable of handling life as a single person instead of as half of a couple. But I couldn't take the feeling that we were enemies. We went through awful things, and we held hands through all of it, through facing off against _real_ enemies. I just couldn't take not having her as my friend. I couldn't laugh with her over dinner at her parents' house, I couldn't argue about Poland's chances in the World Cup . . . No, I won't lose that. That much, I need to hold onto. It's part of me, it's home, and it's part of her, too. We have to do what we can to survive this.

"Please, Ginny."

I hope I sound humble. I feel humble. I feel like I could have been the one who made sure things didn't go this way. I've known for a long time how unhappy she is, and I avoided talking about it so much that I was even avoiding her. Which of course made things worse. (I never really _got_ the phrase "digging yourself into a hole" but now clarity is repeatedly bashing me over the head and I truly understand. I love these little moments with you, Doctor.)

"How?" she says softly. "How do we do this, without that?"

I try to think. "We know that we love each other. That we want the best for each other. We know that, don't we?"

"I want to believe that."

I tamp down the flare of anger I get from that. Anger is just covering up hurt, and hurt is better than anger in this case. She doesn't have to sound so doubtful. She's doing it to be petty, but it's because she's hurt as well. Okay.

"We're both hurt at this point, I think. Let's just agree to listen to each other. Let's . . . let's not try to defend ourselves. Let's just listen. And then we'll be done. We'll just—that'll be the end of it. We'll know why this doesn't work anymore, and we can still try to get along at Sunday dinner after that. We're not going to fight. We're just going to learn a few things. Can we do that?"

Ginny gives me a slightly sardonic look, the meaning clear even when interpreted through red nose and puffy eyes. "Can we put a Tongue-Tying Jinx on the other person when it's our turn to speak?"

"Aw, come on, Gin."

"Well, we don't have a good track record of one person being honest and the other person listening without getting defensive. That's not our strong suit."

"But we'll manage it today," I say firmly. "For each other's sake. You're one of my best friends, so let's try it for the sake of ten years of friendship."

She blows out a shaky breath. "Okay. Let me just blow my nose."

"I'd better go out for more tissue, then," I tease.

She sticks out her tongue at me when she stands up. It's weak and half-hearted and I wish she hadn't. If she doesn't feel our friendship right now, she shouldn't try to force it.

She returns with her nose a bit red, but otherwise looking better. I took the moments she was gone to put the kettle on. I want to make this quick and painless, like ripping off a bandage, but everything goes better with tea. (Yes, I've had bandages ripped off. Yes, it fucking hurts like mad.) Ginny smiles at me as she accepts her cup, and it actually seems genuine, if a bit wan and exhausted.

"Okay . . ." she sighs as she sits back down. "Last night is simple to explain, really. I was lonely, Harry. I've _been_ lonely for a while." I open my mouth, but she holds up her hand and forestalls me. "My turn, right now." I bite back my pride and nod at her to continue. I was the one who said let's take it in turns and not get defensive, and I'm already screwing it up. (This feels strangely like a pattern for me, Doctor. Am I having déjà vu? Wait, what's all this rubbish in your notes about my teenaged years making me overly-defensive?)

"You're a great boyfriend, Harry . . . when you're here. But you're never _here_. I'm closer to Gerty and Gwen at this point than I am to you. It's Gwen I go to when I want to talk about something. It should be you, and I know that I could stick my head in the fireplace and call you. But it's not the same thing as having you beside me. You don't hold me when I'm sad or cheer for me when I'm happy. You don't know when I am, because you're not here. And I understand perfectly well that we don't live in the same area. It doesn't upset me that we don't live together. What upsets me is how much more often you could be here. You could come over on the days you're not working. You _could_ have been at that party last night. And what hurts me, what has been hurting me all this time, is that you don't try. You've made other things a priority, and you've left me out in the cold. Your first thought when you get free time isn't me, it's Teddy. I know you love him and that's fine. I'm not even your second thought, though, am I? It's always Luna or Neville or Ron and Hermione . . . I feel like you don't even remember you're dating me, sometimes."

Ginny pauses for a moment to drink some of her tea, now that it's cooled down. I sit in shamed silence, because she's right. Making Teddy my top priority is one thing. But Ginny ought to be the next person on my list, and she's not even close. She doesn't seem to need me, because she's so independent. She's happy to see me when I do come, so I guess I was just thinking she was fine without me. I know I'm a dunce about girls, but even I should have known better than that.

Ginny sets her cup down and goes on. "If I knew it was only going to be for a little while, I could take it. That was how I approached it when everything started. You supported me when I got onto the team. We had plans to see each other often and Floo-call a few times a week. You wanted to be part of the whole thing with me. You were going to come to these stupid parties with me. You even talked about playing Quidditch professionally, for a while. But none of those things have happened. You've just drifted farther and farther away while I've kept on working toward the goal I thought we had together. I guess it's just me, just my goal. I don't know when that happened. When did that happen, Harry?"

It seems she's said her piece, and I can tell that her throat is tight, that she thinks she might cry again. I don't blame her. I didn't know she was carrying around this feeling of betrayal.

"I don't think I did anything wrong by changing my priorities," I say, looking down into the cup of tea I haven't even touched since I set it on the table. "But I know that I did wrong when I didn't talk to you about it. There's about a million times in the past couple of years when I should have gotten together with you to talk about the things going on in my life, the changes I was making. I haven't been treating you like a partner at all. If I had, maybe we could have figured this out together. We could have made adjustments, both of us, and still made this work. But I just went ahead and did my own thing without you, and now it's too late."

I finally take a few sips of my tea, trying to gather up my thoughts, and I make a face because it's gotten too cold to drink.

"I'm a father now, I think. It wasn't what I intended to be, and I've never tried to force anyone to see me that way. But it happened. I'm Teddy's father in every way that matters except bloodline. And he's a shy little boy who's sick. He's not the sort of boy who I want to drag around behind celebrity parents who constantly get in the paper, with photos and autographs and rubbing elbows with other celebrities. That's what you and I wanted a few years ago, when it was just us. But it's not what I want for Teddy. And I _did_ make him a priority, you're right. I don't know if you'll understand it. I feel like raising him is the most important thing I'll ever do. Bigger than fighting Voldemort, bigger than dying, bigger than anything I've ever been."

Ginny's expression is something I can't even begin to interpret. It's the look she gives me when she loves me, or maybe the one she gives me when she's confused, or maybe it's the look she gave me when I broke up with her before I left to hunt Horcruxes. It's sort of all of them simultaneously. I can't even meet her eyes right now.

"It scares me. I feel like I'm not good enough for it. And I guess that's a lot of the reason I've distanced myself from you lately. You . . . You're not with me on this, Gin. You don't want to be Teddy's mum. And that's fine; I have no right to make you feel like you have to be. But it makes me feel really alone. I don't feel like I can talk to you about this stuff. I know I haven't been coming to see you, but you haven't been coming down to London, either. You haven't even tried. And it _hurts_. It really, really hurts."

I pause for a moment to breathe. I didn't even know it hurt. How is it that I didn't even know that? I thought I was getting so in tune with my feelings . . .

"You don't want to be a part of my life anymore than I want to be a part of yours, at this point. So let's just accept that. Okay? Can we? That we just— you know, we were kids, and we became adults, and somewhere along the way we grew apart instead of together. Is that— can we just say that and go on? I don't want to sit here trying to figure out who hurt who the most."

It's true. I'd rather not. I feel hurt with good reason, she feels hurt with equally good reason, but the real truth here is just that long-distance relationships rarely work out. (When did you try to tell me that, Doctor? I have no recollection, and not a word about selective memory!)

"What if I do?" Ginny shoots back at me, rousing my anger again. Why does she have to make this so difficult? "I'm not very impressed with you trying to play the mature and sorrowful card, Harry Potter. You're upset, too!"

"Yeah, I am," I shoot back. "But I'm playing the mature card because somehow, as funny as it may seem, I'm getting that way, or trying to. Is it so wrong that I don't want us both to walk away from this completely devastated? Why is that bad?"

"Because this should mean something! It should be hard to do! If I hurt you so bad, then why would you want this to go smoothly? Why wouldn't you want to hurt me?" "_Because I love you_!" I shout at her. "I think you're amazing! I think you're beautiful! I think you're one of the best people in the world, and I hope that you get a place on England's team, and I hope that you're always happy, and I hope that things work out with Alain Paradis so you won't have to feel lonely. I'm breaking this off because I love you, not because I don't. I know I'm hurting you, and I want to _stop doing that_. I . . . I wanted to _marry_ you, Ginny," I squeeze out past an incredibly tight throat. "I really, really did." Is it my imagination that I'm whispering? I thought I was shouting.

"I know," Ginny whispers back, and I look up to see that she is ashen-faced and digging into her pocket. She places a small box on the table, and I would swear she must have also punched me in the gut, because I can't breathe. "This— it was that night when we had dinner with Luna and that Scamander— Teddy got sick that night— you left this on your chair— I know, Harry. You were going to propose to me. So I waited. I kept waiting for a long time. I thought you'd ask me if I had found this as soon as you realized it wasn't in your pocket. You never did. You . . ."

She shoves the box across the table, and I numbly take the engagement ring and fumble it into my own pocket.

"You should go now," she says quietly. "Try to avoid the stadium so the press doesn't know."

"What are we going to do about them?" I ask, still numb.

"Nothing," she shrugs. "I won't answer any questions. You do what you like. They'll figure it out eventually."

I nod. It's been my usual method of dealing with reporters; if you ignore them they eventually go away. (Rita Skeeter is an exception, but then Rita Skeeter is exceptionally insane.) I get up and I nearly run to the front door. I can't stay here for one more second, because I seriously can't _breathe_—

"Harry!"

Ginny lunges for me, catches me by the arm at the door.

"I love you, too," she says, and grabs the back of my head to drag me down and press a harsh kiss on me. Then she lets go and shuts the door in my face.

* * *

I still want to spend time at the Burrow, odd as that may seem. Everything there is tinged with regret, at this point. Ginny and I kissed on the landing of the stairs, just there. Ginny and I made dinner together that one night, and I was standing _there_ when she smacked me with a spoon. We used to sneak out of _that_ window with our brooms and fly all night. So it hurts, being there. But it's still home.

"Teddy, love, come help Grandma make some sandwiches," Molly says, tugging Teddy away from the book he was reading, curled up beside me on the couch. I realize that I've been sitting there, staring off into space for several minutes and that Teddy has decided to entertain himself. I didn't want to come over without Teddy as a buffer. The first thing Molly said to me after she got the news that Ginny and I were breaking things off was that I'd better not stop coming over, and I appreciated it, but I wasn't brave enough to show up until Bug was with me.

Molly, for all her quick temper, is a gracious woman. She's giving me some space to sort myself out. I still feel a bit like I can't breathe, so I poke my head into the kitchen.

"Hey, I'm going for a walk. I won't be too long."

Molly just nods, but Teddy looks up at me with his huge, sad eyes. He knows I'm feeling off, but I haven't figured out how to tell him about Ginny. I think he might have already figured it out, though, because he called last night (with Andromeda's help, of course) and asked if he could come spend the night so I wouldn't be lonely. Like I was going to turn that down? Since I'm all moping and distracted, I brought him over here today, so he could hang out with Molly and not have to feel depressed with me.

I walk away from the house aimlessly, with no destination in mind. The engagement ring is in my pocket, because I can't figure out what to do with it so I've just been carrying it around. I miss Ginny already. It's foolish of me, I'm only too aware of that. But there is a huge difference between not calling Ginny, and not being able to call Ginny. We have been a couple, more or less, since my sixth year (sometimes separated, but still faithful) and I don't really know what to do with myself now.

Ginny was my answer to being happy, lonely, horny, or sad. I suppose that now I will just deal with those things on my own, which makes the future seem bleak. Was it just three days ago that I believed I would be fine with life as a single? Everyone seems to think I isolate myself, that I do everything on my own. But it's not true. I've always had Ginny . . . And now I don't.

I find myself at the pond where we used to go swimming. I stare blankly at the water, which is alive with insects skimming the surface, slightly shimmering from the pressing late-summer heat. It doesn't feel the same, somehow. It's like this is the last thing to go before real adulthood. I won't be coming back here with Ginny to skinny dip at midnight when her parents think we're sleeping.

I didn't consciously put my hand into my pocket, but when I realize that I'm holding the little black box with the engagement ring, there's only one thing to do with it. It takes me a deep breath and a wind-up with my arm before I can make my fingers loosen, but then I'm watching the bugs skitter away from the disturbance as ripples close over the box. Like ripping off a bandage. Quick and easy, before it catches up with you and the disproportionate burst of pain.

I sit down in the grass at the side of the pond and put my head down on my knees. I don't feel like crying, but I'm hiding my face because I don't know what it should look like. I feel as though I'll walk away from here as a different person completely, with nothing left of "just Harry." Should I be mourning myself or something? (People go through drastic changes more than once in their lives? Doctor, you must be joking, no one would be willing to do this twice.) I think that most people must not do this—must not really change very much. Things change around them, but they go on being the same as they always were. Not me. I want to change, even though it hurts like this and scares the hell out of me. I want to be a man who's strong but also patient and kind—someone like Remus or like Arthur. I want to be someone who's not fazed by life's problems. I want to be a man who will always stand up for friends like Luna, and I want to be a man Teddy can look up to.

There are so many parts of me that I will have to trim off and leave behind—jealousy, fear, pettiness, grudges, and I'm sure myriad bad habits I don't even know I have. Losing Ginny hurts, but maybe it's what I needed. Maybe now I'll get serious about becoming the kind of father Teddy can be proud of.

(I don't know if you're thinking what I'm thinking, Doctor, but if you're thinking this is going to take a while, you're right. Better go ahead and book my next thirty sessions with you in advance.)

I'm utterly terrified right now.

I hear footsteps in the grass, and though my level of paranoia has decreased enough to let me continue sitting by the pond instead of jumping to my feet to face an opponent, still my hand is clutching my wand when I turn to look over my shoulder.

It's Bug, and he looks uncertain and afraid.

"Hey, you," I say quietly, patting the ground next to me to invite him to sit. "Does Grandma Molly know you're out here?"

He nods, his hair flopping into his eyes. "Yes, I asked permission," he says very quietly.

"Did you want to sit out here with me for a while?"

He nods again, sitting down, but not as close to me as he usually does. I am instantly concerned. With Bug, physical distance is emotional distance. If things were okay, he'd be in my lap.

"Did you have something you wanted to talk about?"

He fidgets a bit and starts playing with the grass.

"Are you afraid I'll be mad at you?"

He looks up at me, finally, and I see fear and sadness in his eyes, sharp enough to cut myself on—and it feels like I have. I want him to be smiling, always.

"I won't be mad, Teddy. Don't ever be afraid to talk to me."

He takes a deep gulp of air and fidgets with a blade of grass, crushing it and letting pulp squish in his fingers and sending the bitter, summer scent of it toward me.

"It's my fault, isn't it."

He isn't even asking, he just assumes he's right. There's only one thing he could be talking about.

"No, it wasn't. Ginny and I were the ones dating each other, and so breaking up was a choice that Ginny and I made. No one else."

"But she was mad that she can't live in your house with me and you. And now you're sad. If I go away, will you and Auntie Ginny be happy?"

"_No_," I say, and I hear the terrible coldness in that denial. My heart stops beating, to think about Teddy disappearing. "No, Bug. If you left, I'd be so sad I wouldn't know what to do at all. I would— let's don't talk about something like that, okay? I need you here, with me. Because taking care of you makes me happy, remember?"

"But Auntie Ginn—"

"Teddy. Listen. Ginny wants some specific things to happen in her life. And I want other things to happen in mine. We can't be together and still both be happy, do you see? We do love each other, so that's why we decided it was better to let go so we could both be happy. Does that make sense?" He screws up his face and shrugs, which I take to mean that he's absorbed a great deal of it, but is not ready to let go of the guilt he's feeling. But hopefully it also means he feels better about talking to me, so I rather sneakily scoot closer, then closer, and close enough to put my arm around him. Green-tinged fingers, stained with grass, clutch at my pant leg.

"I heard Grandma Molly talk to Grandpa Arthur," he whispers. "She said Auntie Ginny wanted to sow wild oats. And she said you can't do that cause you don't even know how to talk to girls."

Despite myself, I snigger a little, trying to picture the rest of that conversation. People forget Teddy's listening to them, sometimes. I know better than anyone just how bright he is and how much he can put together on his own. Although sadly it's probably true. My first disastrous flailing efforts to flirt were nearly ten years ago, and they were also the last. My brief and unhappy attempt at a romance with Cho Chang was my only experience with women other than Ginny. Oh, hell. I haven't even _tried_ to think about the fact that I am now free to pursue other women. I almost start laughing aloud. I mean, really. Me, Harry Potter. _Flirting_. This cannot end well.

"But you talk to girls all the time," Teddy said in confusion. "I tried real hard to figure it out, cause you said it's good to think about things on your own."

Dear Merlin, every time Teddy says something like that, I break out in a cold sweat. Didn't I just get finished saying I know he's listening? Sometimes even I need the reminder to _be careful_. I don't even remember when I said that or who I said it to. Who knows when Teddy will take something I said as the gospel truth, and end up hurting?

"You like talking to Aunt Angie and Aunt Hermione and Miss Hannah. Then I thought she meant about girls who aren't married, but you talk to Miss Luna, too. So I don't think Grandma Molly's right, Harry. I think you're okay."

Satisfied with himself but doubtless feeling over-bold for declaring Grandma Molly to be incorrect—I have a lot more experience distrusting adults than he does—he snuggles in close and hides his face.

"You and Grandma Molly are just thinking about different types of talking, that's all," I tell him, absently stroking my hand over his back while I stare out at the dancing surface of the lake. I think I feel better, oddly enough. For one thing, Bug clearly thinks I'm not beyond hope yet, even though it's kind of pathetic that a six-year-old's opinion means that much to me. But it lays to rest my doubts about still having a place in this family. They might be mocking me behind my back, but at least I know the Weasleys aren't angry at me over the breakup, even going so far as to picture me hooking up with someone else. Oh. Oh dear Merlin. What if Molly tries to play matchmaker? She's been doing it to Charlie for years and I'm convinced it's half the reason he lives in another country.

The possibilities that have sprung up in my future are staggering. Blind dates. "I have this friend" conversations. Girls that want to date Harry Fucking Potter. It'll be in the media. Photos of me and some girl, no matter how private I try to keep things, and wild speculations about the "Chosen One's chosen one." It's overwhelming. I think I'm supposed to be excited by the idea of it all, but instead I feel a bit nauseated. And _oh shit what if there's a picture of Ginny with that Paradis bloke right beside mine on those stupid society pages—_

I card my fingers through Bug's hair and feel more grounded. I wouldn't put him through all of that—and where would I find a woman who's okay with this, anyway? But I know that everyone's going to worry about me, push me, and I wonder if I'll end up thinking Charlie was right after all. I was never the type to run away from anything, but it suddenly sounds pretty good.

* * *

Andromeda no longer worries about leaving Teddy with me if she needs to do something, which is all the to the good. But now we've perhaps swung too far the other direction. Despite my clearly-stated intentions to go out with Neville, Hannah, and Luna tonight, she has developed a sudden need for me to take Teddy. Even _that_ would be fine if it was an emergency or something, but I do not consider a call from an old friend in Bath to be an emergency. What about _my_ friends, damn it? I hardly ever see them as it is! And Luna supposedly had some kind of news for us tonight, big news.

I sent my owl to Luna, figuring she'd have to pass the message along for me. He's pleasingly fast, but he couldn't get to both homes before the time we were supposed to meet. I feel bad for letting them down, but it wasn't like there was much I could do. Andromeda called me and just sort of bowled me over, and Teddy was practically hiding behind her because he was clearly so embarrassed about being a bother to me. My eventual agreement was a lot more about getting that look off his face than about making Andromeda happy.

I'll admit that some of it _was_ concern for her, though. She looks really—I don't know. Tired, or strained, or something. She was bullying me around because that's all she seems to know how to do, but I'm worried because she seemed like she would have let go of her pride to beg me if I'd let it go on.

So I let her bring Teddy through the fire, no longer worrying that she needs to pack him a bag or give me any instructions. She iss gone again only a moment later, and I wonder whether or not she was lying about the friend in Bath.

Everything about this is made more complicated by the fact that it's full moon tomorrow, when he would have been coming over anyway. Andromeda probably gave him his medication not too long ago. I know that he tends to be uncomfortable and restless on the actual full moon night, but I don't often have him the day prior, when he takes the strongest dose of meds.

I cross to where he's standing in the middle of the room and hold out my hand. "You want to come to the kitchen with me so we can figure out dinner?"

He shakes his head. He's pale and his skin looks sweaty. I go down on my knee and push the damply clinging bits of hair away from his forehead.

"You don't feel good, do you?" I ask him quietly.

"My tummy hurts," he admits.

"I'd better get you a glass of water and put you to bed, hadn't I?" I say, already resigned to spending the night sitting beside his bed and keeping vigil, just in case.

Teddy pushes himself against me, and I'm only too willing to obey the request to hug him. "It's too quiet there. Can I stay here with you?"

"Bug—" I choke on that, my throat thick. "It's 'May I' you know," I sigh, and carry him toward the stairs. "We're going to change you into your pyjamas, and then you can lay on the couch with me and I'll read to you for a while, okay?"

"Mmm-hmm," he agrees listlessly, laying his head complacently on my shoulder.

I feel an enormous amount of comfort in the fact that he rouses himself to kick me out so he can change clothes by himself. His privacy means quite a bit to him, and I feel better knowing that he's not too ill to want that. He emerges and walks downstairs with me on his own, too. Heh. Maybe he didn't really need to be carried upstairs and he just kind of let me. Like I said, even I forget how smart he is.

We read for a while, him on the couch huddled under a throw blanket that Molly made, and me sitting on the floor propped up by the couch. It's pretty cozy, all told. I get the fireplace going, even though it's too warm for a fire, and the two of us are munching on some crackers to settle Teddy's stomach. (I am not thinking, not even for a moment, about the dinner I was planning to have. I am not thinking about the fun my friends are having without me, and I am not swallowing dry cracker crumbs and thinking about the delicious possibilities at whatever restaurant they decided on. No, sir, not even a little.)

Turns out that Teddy's stomach is not really enjoying the crackers. He makes a strangled sound, and with some kind of instinct I don't even understand, I realize what's wrong and I've yanked him up and carried him to the downstairs bathroom before even truly registering the noise. I'm not sure whether to leave so he can throw up with some privacy, or stay with him because he's a tiny kid and he's sick. The whole thing is not really pleasant, but I stay with him. Thankfully it doesn't last long.

For the sake of expediency, I just Summon his toothbrush.

"Do you want to go to bed now?" I ask him while he's brushing.

He shakes his head and spits in the sink. "I feel better now. I won't throw up anymore."

"Does that happen every time, Bug? I thought your medicine took care of that."

He frowns. "I think . . . I get too tired from that. I don't take that one tonight because I need lots of energy. Grandma still needs to tell you. I was supposed to remind her about that, but I forgot."

"And just why in hell Grandma is counting on _you_ to remember in her place," I start to mutter, but I stop myself because Bug doesn't need to hear it. "Did Dr. Franklin say that it was okay to do that?"

"Y-e-e-s-s-s," he draws out, thinking hard.

"You're sure?"

"Yes, sir," Teddy mumbles.

"Please don't ever call me sir," I sigh, picking him up and swinging him around to rest against my side and hip so I can carry him back to the living room. "I'm really sorry, Bug."

"How come?"

"Because it shouldn't be like this."

He shouldn't be sick in the first place. The medication shouldn't cause as many problems as it solves. He shouldn't be here with me instead of home with his own parents, and as I'm thinking I'm realizing that there are so many things wrong in Teddy's world that I don't even know where to start. (I am aware, Doctor, that no one's life is perfect. Of all people, I know that. But really, is it that weird that I want _this_ boy's life to be perfect?)

"It's okay, Harry," he says brightly, laying his head on my shoulder again. "My tummy doesn't hurt so much now."

"That's good," I mutter, patting his back.

"And I get to be at your house. I always feel good at your house."

I sit down in an armchair, still holding him. "I'm glad," I tell him softly. I suddenly want to rock him to sleep. It's only a quick moment of work to transfigure the legs on the chair into rockers, and then we're slowly drifting back and forth together, both of us with drooping eyes and nodding heads. The fire isn't hot enough to explain the feverish warmth of Teddy's body, and I feel very tired, wondering how long this can go on before one of us—me, Teddy, or Andromeda—just breaks under the pressure.

Then a head comes to life in my fireplace, and I sit up straighter. Teddy wasn't quite asleep, and this rouses him. He turns to see who's calling.

"Hello, boys," Luna says cheerfully. "It seems I've interrupted an important cuddle."

"It's okay, Miss Luna," Teddy answers her. "You should come through to see us!"

Luna looks doubtful, but I add my own voice. "No, really, come on through, Luna. It'll be more comfortable than sticking your head in the fire."

"Well, thank you for thinking of me," she says sincerely. Her head disappears, but then the flames pop and spark green, and she steps through with a calm, unhurried brush of her hands over her clothes.

"How was dinner?" I ask her, very glad my voice doesn't sound bitter. I don't want the Bug thinking I'm upset about it, because he'll feel guilty even though it wasn't his fault.

"Oh, we didn't go," she says, clasping her hands in front of her. It makes her look oddly demure, like that stereotype of a maid or something.

"D'you want to sit down?"

"I would love to, thank you."

"Why didn't you go, then?" I ask her as she takes a seat on the couch Teddy has just been laying on.

"We didn't want to go without you," she says, eyes bright on me. "It wouldn't have been the same. We were wondering if we could reschedule for Monday week?"

"Oh," I say in surprise, feeling like I'm blushing for some strange reason. "I, uh, I think so. Sure."

"That way Dean can come as well, and it will be more appropriate, anyway," she goes on, unconcerned by my blathering.

"What's that? Dean?"

"I already spoiled the surprise a bit with Neville and Hannah, so I thought I ought to go on and tell you," she explains. "I've taken on Dean as my co-editor for _The Quibbler_."

"Oh, really?" I stutter, surprised beyond my ability to respond gracefully. "That's great news, but I thought he'd just gotten a job with the _Daily Prophet _not long ago?"

You see how I've matured? I am not voicing my wonderment about why Dean would leave a reputable, stable job like that to work with Luna on her wonky magazine—well, okay, it's not that weird lately. But still.

"Of all the people I've spoken to recently, it always seemed like Dean was the person who best understood the direction I'm trying to move in. He has vision, you see. Truly, he's very independent. He has his own ideas about how to do things. I shouldn't like to gossip, but he did say he's had a lot of conflict with his immediate superior. He believes working on _The Quibbler_ will give him more freedom of expression."

"Well, I'm glad," I tell her, completely honestly. Dean's a great guy, as I'm sure his wife would attest, and he won't do anything to jeopardize Luna's magazine. He's a good writer. I'm sure he has loads of vision, although I wouldn't really know. And Merlin knows Luna's been needing the help. Even when her father was still there, he wasn't able to do much more than help her brainstorm. I don't really know what it is Dean might be responsible for, but I know that Luna has trouble dividing things up neatly. He'll probably just do a bit of everything. That strikes me as something that would appeal to Dean, maybe even to draw him away from a stable career. When we were in school, he liked to do a lot of different things at once.

"I'll save most of my well-wishing for Monday, but I'm happy that you got that worked out," I say.

"Thank you, Harry. I'm glad we'll all get to have dinner together, after all. It just wouldn't have been the same if you couldn't come."

It's pathetic it is, how that threatens to choke me up. When's the last time I heard something like that?

"So what have you been doing this evening, if you weren't out?" I ask politely.

"I was fire-calling with Neville and Dean first, then I was getting a bit of work done," she says, and stands back up. "I just have some things to study tonight, so I won't intrude on you any longer."

Teddy makes a soft noise against me that I know means he's disappointed. He likes getting to spend time with Luna. Luna, on her way back to her big empty house to sit alone with interview notes for company . . .

"Why don't you bring your work over here?" I suggest, hoping my voice doesn't sound as irritatingly perky-in-an-attempt-to-sound-innocent as it seems. "Teddy and I were just going to be in here reading for a while. The company would be nice. I promise we'll keep to ourselves and let you work. It's just that I was about to put the kettle on, so you might as well work someplace where the tea's being made for you," I finish with a grin, unable to help it when I hear the pleased noise Teddy makes.

"Oh," Luna says, sounding completely bowled over. "Well. I suppose I could do that. The company _would _be nice, wouldn't it?"

And she does just that, disappearing through the fireplace in a swirl of green flame that I will never believe is not just a bit sinister, but re-appearing only a minute later with a sheaf of papers and a thick book tucked against her side.

"I won't stay too late," she says uncertainly.

"Go on, sit down," I say, waving my hand at the living room. I've just ordered Kreacher to put the kettle on, since I'm far too comfortable where I am to get up and do it myself. He was almost disgustingly happy to have something to do. "You can do this anytime you like," I tell her. "My living room is yours whenever you need it."

"I appreciate that, Harry," she says with that unnerving sincerity she always has, looking me right in the eyes. "I brought something with me."

"Oh?"

"I thought if you're making tea, we could make this. Teddy, I've heard you get stomachaches from time to time. Would you like to try the tea that my mummy used to make for me when I was ill?"

"Yeah!" he says eagerly, and Luna cocks her head in my direction.

"Is that all right?"

"Should be. What's in it?" I ask politely.

"Just a mix of chamomile and ginger root. Spot of nettle, as well. I looked it up in my old Potions book, and I made sure none of the ingredients would interfere with his medication, but I could show you the entries if you'd like to make sure."

"No, Luna, that's fine. That's really thoughtful of you. I . . . I really appreciate that. Thank you."

I know what things Teddy has to avoid specifically in his diet. I have a list that's posted in my pantry and which I have spent so much time looking at that I feel like I could close my eyes and find it inscribed on my eyelids. Nettle, chamomile, and ginger are not on it. And the fact that Luna has brought over her mother's recipe from her own childhood just has me moved beyond words. (Thank Merlin for that, because if I could speak I would probably just say something sappy.)

"Let me go put things together," I say, standing up with the Bug's arms and legs wrapped around my torso, doing his barnacle impression.

"No, please, let me," Luna says, waving me off. "You two looked very comfortable where you were."

She is volunteering to wrestle with Kreacher in my place so I can cuddle with my godson. I am not going to argue.

She returns from the kitchen in due course, looking no worse for the wear. Evidently Kreacher was not feeling as territorial as he normally does. (Should this frighten me? Because I think it has me worried that he's finally dying.) She has a small tray with three steaming cups of tea on it.

"I wasn't sure what to make for you, Harry. Kreacher insists this is your favourite."

It probably is. I make do with tea bags when I don't have Kreacher making my tea. I'm glad somebody knows what kind of tea I like.

"You didn't have to do that," I say lazily, probably not very sincerely. I move Teddy back to the couch but this time sitting beside him so he can stretch out and read to himself while I read a book of my own. A history of lycanthropy, actually. Hermione was not able to find one that was written by an actual werewolf, and I find that strangely disappointing. Still, I want more of an education. I'm not convinced that Teddy won't develop lycanthropy at some point, Dr. Franklin's arguments be damned. Knowledge can't hurt, either way.

Luna is sprawled out on the floor, scratching at her paper with a quill and frequently muttering under her breath. I can't help a glance down at her work, and I blink in surprise.

"Luna? Are you doing an article on Ancient Runes?"

"No. Did you have an interest?"

"No, it's just . . . You're not writing in English."

"Oh," she says, blinking up at me dreamily. "It's Italian."

"It is?"

"It's supposed to be," she clarifies, and glares down at her paper. "I'm not at all certain it's accurate."

"You're studying Italian?"

"Yes," she mutters, still scowling at her notes. "After we talked about my mother, I thought I wanted to brush up on my skills. And then I just— well, I just thought I'd like to become fluent."

She looks oddly . . . Furtive. That's not like Luna. Full-on, four-alarm, red alert happening in my brain. Luna is honest to a fault, and she's hiding something from me now. I know what happened last time, and my first instinct is to grab her by the shoulders and shake it out of her. But I take a deep breath, and think. I know what happened, and so does she. We got through that situation, and we're better for it. She wouldn't lie about something that could potentially harm herself, I don't think. And she's not really lying, either. She's just being secretive about learning Italian. It could just be that she's not ready to talk about her mother, I suppose.

"Just for fun?"

"It has been rather fun so far," she says agreeably, though the way she frowns at her work seems to belie it.

"That's pretty cool, Luna. I'd never be able to learn a new language on my own. Luna?"

"Hmm?"

"You can tell me anything, you know."

"I know," she says more cheerfully, and resumes scribbling.

"Okay."

Teddy really loves the tea and asks for a second cup. I'm very happy about that, especially when he says he feels better. I don't know if I could even communicate to Luna how great it is to have something that makes him feel better, when nothing else seems to. (Nothing but being here with me, apparently, and I'm totally not overjoyed by that or anything.) I resolve to get her mother's recipe so I can start keeping this tea in the house. I should know better than to allow Teddy to fall asleep on the couch, head in my lap and book splayed open over his chest. But I let him sleep without moving him. It's so warm and comfortable down here, with the fire crackling and Luna's pages rustling softly in the quiet.

I don't know why I'm looking at her. And I don't know why my stomach is tying itself in a knot over it. And I'm not going to think about it any further. There's enough change happening in my life already.

I bury my face in my book. It's better that way. Better than what, I couldn't tell you.


End file.
